


A Mage Scorned

by KinkMemeMary



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Fisting, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Rape, Sex Magic, Spit-roasting, curse, hurt and eventual comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9671585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinkMemeMary/pseuds/KinkMemeMary
Summary: Kink meme fill: Hawke and Co rescue a blood mage from being made Tranquil. Justice takes over during the fight and the mage is impressed and wants to know more about Justice's possession of Anders. When Anders rejects his admiration the mage rips Justice from him and curses Anders, although the full extent of the curse is not obvious at first.Any time Anders feels even a little aroused those near him are driven wild with lust. He is taken many times both by friends and strangers. When Fenris realises what is happening he works to protect the mage.WARNING for graphic depictions of rape. Please be aware of the tags.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original kink meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16884.html?thread=64370932#t64370932 
> 
> **Anders Cursed-Anders/Many Non-Con**  
> 
> During the events of Kirkwall Anders is separated from Justice and a curse is placed on him, either by Justice, who had be come Vengeance, perhaps a blood mage or whatever A!A wants just as long as Justice is no longer in the picture.
> 
> The curse is that anytime Anders gets even the tiniest bit aroused around another man that man goes mad with lust and has to have Anders weather agrees or not. Basically Anders is raped over and over again by all of his male companions and other men around Kirkwall.
> 
> They realize what the curse is after a night out on the Wounded Coast after Anders has been separated from Justice, he has a mild wet dream and wakes up with Hawke, Sebastian, Fenris, and/or Varric forcing themselves on him. He tries fighting back but the curse makes it all but impossible for him to do little more then beg for them to stop. Of course after all is said and done none of his companions can believe what they just did. Unfortunately it won't be the last time this happens with them and Anders or Anders and other men around Kirkwall.
> 
> Eventually the curse is broken and they help Anders slowly heal from the horrible trauma that has been his life for the last few weeks or months.
> 
> Bonus:
> 
> -It happens around a group of Qunari.
> 
> -It happens around some templars.
> 
> -The curse makes sex extremely painful for Anders.
> 
> \---
> 
> Tags will be updated as the fic progresses and more characters have their way with Anders. My take on this is that the sex is dub-con or non-con for everyone involved - the spell is overwhelming for the people around Anders - but that doesn't minimise the trauma of what is happening to Anders.
> 
> Please read the tags and be aware that this fic contains multiple depictions of rape. DL;DR. If any other tags need adding, let me know.

The dust settled on a scene of devastation. A dozen dead Templars strewn on the ground, the young blood mage in their centre.

Anders staggered as he came back to himself. He could feel the eyes of his companions upon him. It was getting worse. He knew it. They knew it. And they became more and more uncomfortable every time.

Ajourdan came to his feet and gripped Anders' arms to support him.

"That was incredible," he whispered in awe. "You've joined with a spirit - such power." He traced a line of bright blue light where the Fade still cut through Anders' skin.

He shook himself free of that touch with a shudder. "It's not something you want," he said.

Ajourdan moved towards him again, desire in his eyes. "And what if I do?"

"Then you're even more stupid than you look!"

He should be gentler on the boy. Couldn't be much more than twenty. All decked out in red and black robes with a ridiculous goatie like he _wanted_ to be taken for a maleficar. And he _had_ turned to blood magic in the end - the bloody fool - but faced with the brand... this is what Templar abuses led to. They'd been a moment away from making him Tranquil. The first few prongs of the sunburst brand had marked Ajourdan's skin

Ajourdan coloured red. "Stupid, am I?" the blood mage shouted. "We'll see who's stupid. If you don't even know the power you possess you don't deserve it!"

He barely registered the knife in the young man's hand before it was too late. Blood flowed - both Ajourdan's and his own. He heard Hawke calling out behind him, Varric - even Fenris.

" _You will learn_ ," a voice echoed from above him. " _Learn to know when you are being praised. Learn to value power when it is gone_."

A great, horrible wrench rippled through him. The air choked with blue and white and red. He thought at first that Justice had taken over again, but this was different. It felt like great chunks of himself were being ripped away. He screamed... and all was blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is adjusts to life without Justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are so short. I'm basically writing what I have time for on the Kink Meme...

Anders returned to consciousness with the world spinning around him. He groaned and curled in on himself.

"Hey, shh, you're OK," a voice said. A hand on his arm. Hawke.

Anders reached for his power to heal himself... and felt immediately that something was wrong. Very wrong.

He delved further - deep down into himself. Into every corner of his being.

Nothing.

No one. No one else.

Justice was not there.

"He's gone..." Anders whispered.

Hawke squeezed his arm. "We couldn't kill him for you. I'm sorry. He got away."

"Perhaps now you will see why some mages need the brand." Fenris said.

Anders groaned again.

"Not _now_ ," Hawke hissed.

"Not - not Ajourdan," Anders whispered. "Justice. I can't feel him. I can't feel him at all."

And then he began to cry.

***

Adjusting to Justice's absence was not easy. It was like a gaping hole inside him. He knew that, once, all of this had been himself, and just himself. But the idea of filling all of his mind with just one person now was daunting. He tried to be alone as little as possible.

No one knew how Ajourdan had achieved it. Everything Anders knew about spirits said that it should be impossible. Merrill had examined him - several times - hoping that something in her knowledge of blood magic or Dalish history would provide an explanation. But she was as perplexed as anyone. And disconcertingly kind.

After everything he had said to her over the years - all he had said of blood magic. She was patient and gentle and seemed genuinely sad that he had been injured so by another blood mage.

For a wonder, she did not fall into the temptation to tell him it was for the best. He knew many of his companions were relieved, and Fenris could not seem to hold his tongue on the matter. He seemed both pleased that Justice was gone and vindicated of the need for mages to be restrained. Merrill's quiet attention and reassurance without criticism were a balm in the face of the others, even if it was clear she couldn't help.

There was nothing for it. Anders had to learn to accept that his friend was gone. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, that was probably for the best. He'd known he was corrupting the spirit with his anger, and, too, that Justice was increasingly the one in control. Finding himself again - filling the space in his mind the spirit had left, would be hard.

But slowly, Anders began to make peace. Opened his clinic again. He rarely slept there, these days. Being alone in Darktown was both too noisy and too silent. He felt the danger of the place as he never had before. When Hawke offered him a room in his estate, Anders accepted gratefully.

Anders was so consumed by his loss that it was some months before anyone began to suspect that the spirit's absence was only part of the spell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the spell begins to have an effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con/rape applies to this chapter... and probably most chapters going forward. Read at your own discretion.

The first time was with Fenris.

They were out on the Wounded Coast, roped into another of Hawke's endless quests and camping for the night before returning to Kirkwall.

Anders had gone off for a piss, and was startled as he was returning to happen upon the elf. He emerged over a sand dune wearing only his leggings. His muscles glistened with water in the moonlight, accentuated by the shining reflection of the lyrium in his tattoos.

Despite himself, Anders could not help but stare. He'd always thought Fenris attractive, but his views were too repulsive for the mage to consider his physical beauty much these days. This unguarded moment in the moonlight had caught him unawares.

The elf was breathtaking. Anders shivered with desire, was glad the darkness would conceal his blush, and turned away.

It was a surprise, then, to feel Fenris's hands on him moments later. One at his neck, the other looped around his waist, pulling him back against the hard muscles he had so admired.

He felt Fenris's nose run along the side of his neck, into his hair. Heard the elf's breathing hard and heavy. Fenris was smelling him.

"Fenris," he said. "What are you...?"

"Shhh..." the elf breathed, a hand sliding up and underneath his thin tunic, making Anders shiver again in spite of himself.

He felt a hard length against his butt cheeks. Fenris's mouth on his neck, sucking hard. His own cock was beginning to respond.

"Fenris, what is this...?"

The hand that had been on his neck closed over his mouth and he felt the elf's teeth teasing against his earlobe.

He was fully hard now, and he moaned into Fenris's hand as the other skirted down the muscles of his abdomen and found his hard length - squeezed.

He gasped, and in moments Fenris had shoved down his trousers and smalls, exposing his flushed length to the cool night air.

The elf pushed him forward, onto his hands and knees in the dunes. Then fingers at his pursed hole.

"Fenris, wait-" he protested. But one digit was already in, shoving rough and dry - not enough to prepare him. "Fenris, I'm not ready - we need-"

Another finger worked into him. Too fast, too rough. Sharp pain from his abused hole.

Anders muttered a quick grease spell, reached behind himself and grabbed the elf's hand before anymore over-eager fingers could be inserted. He managed to smear some over Fenris's fingers and a little over his hole before the elf shoved his hand out of the way, back into the sand, what remained of the grease becoming useless as it mixed with the fine grains.

And apparently for Fenris that was preparation enough.

Strong hands gripped Anders' hips and held him as the elf positioned himself. He had only a moment's warning as he felt the tip of Fenris's cock at his entrance.

Then the length was plunging in.

The elf gave him no time to adjust and the small smear of grease he had managed to get onto his hole was not enough. Fenris pressed deep into him, all the way to the hilt. Friction too great and too fast. He was sore, sore, sore, and if he had ever, alone in his bunk, indulged a fantasy of being taken by the elf, it had not been like this.

He cried out as Fenris withdrew and slammed home again, the elf's balls slapping against his skin.

"No, Fenris, please," Anders said. "Just give me a - ah!"

The elf slammed home again.

"It will be better - for you, too-"

But it was like Fenris didn't hear. He slammed again and again into Anders' sore hole. And as tears began to sting at his eyes he knew he had begun to bleed as he felt some of the friction ease.

Fenris was moving faster now, his breath coming in gasps, his hands clutching and grasping around Anders' hips and arse. Blessedly, it didn't take him long to climax. He collapsed over Anders' back, groaning.

And eventually, he pulled out.

Anders collapsed forward into the sand, and after gasping out a few sobs, rolled onto his back. He glared at the still form silhouetted in the darkness.

"I don't know what that bastard did to you," Anders said. "But when someone tells you to stop, you stop."

"I..." Fenris said.

"You what?"

"I'm sorry," Fenris gasped. "I don't know - I don't - I didn't-"

"What - you didn't hear me?" Anders said.

The elf fumbled for his leggings, pulled them up, and stumbled away into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for Anders making excuses about what is happening to him. This is not intended as rape apology and doesn't reflect A!A's opinions, it's just how Anders is trying to cope.

The second time it was Isabela. It hadn't _felt_ unwilling, but looking back, it was certainly part of the pattern.

Anders had tried to put the experience with Fenris behind him. The elf was clearly ashamed and went out of his way to avoid Anders after that - even more so than usual. The healer told himself Fenris probably hadn't had any healthy sexual experiences before and hadn't known it wasn't meant to be like that. It didn't make the memory any better, but it made it easier to believe it wouldn't happen again. Made it easier to hear his friends talking about the elf and not think of the man as a sadist who might harm him again.

It had just been bad sex. Really bad sex. But maybe the kind of sex you had when you didn't know any better.

With Isabela... well. Anders had gone with her to her room. Anders had drunk far too much of her rum. Anders had been staring at her chest. Thinking how soft and luscious it looked - how very different from the firm muscles of a certain elf.

He did like women too. But so many of his lovers had been men. And he'd had a good time with Isabela in The Pearl, hadn't he?

 _Damn_ , she had a fine chest.

All the same, things had gone very quickly from him reminiscing drunkenly about the Good Old Days and dipping a quick glance at her breasts to Isabela straddling his hardening erection.

"Ha, ha - hi, Isabela," he said as she fumbled with the buckles of his coat. "Feeling frisky?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," she said, then stopped him from saying more by pressing into his mouth for a kiss.

He could feel her breasts against him - soft and round and rubbing - and he honestly couldn't say that he minded that at all.

"OK," he whispered as she pulled back, allowing her to pull him roughly from his coat and tunic, hands greedily running up his chest, fingers curling in the light dusting of hair across his pecs before drawing down again and yanking at the fastenings of his trousers.

By the time she'd pulled him free his cock was rock hard.

She didn't even really undress - just hooked aside her thong and settled warm wetness about him, lowering herself down.

This was better, he told himself. This was what sex should be like - he was willing and she was ready.

As she moaned and rocked against him he thrilled at the heady sensations. Isabela was very much in charge - taking her pleasure from him, tweaking his nipples just to hear him moan, rocking and thrusting and _squeezing_ against him to the rhythm of her needs - but she was experienced and seemed to enjoy hearing him groan with every movement of her delicious sex around him.

Still, she set a fast pace, racing herself to orgasm like a woman driven. Isabella ground herself against him as though to get every last drop of pleasure from each rock of her hips. She finished before he did, collapsing across him, shuddering and twitching with her climax.

As she caught her breath, feeling him still hard inside her, he saw a rare flush grace her cheeks.

"Wow," she said. "Not sure where that came from. I feel like a teenage boy. Here, let me finish you off."

And then she took her time, kissing him, licking him, fisting a hand in his hair to make him arch as she ran a hand along his torso, making him shudder. He lifted his hands and cupped her bountiful breasts, feeling their weight shift with her movements - rubbing his thumbs over her nipples as she played with his. And when she brought him to climax it felt much more like something they were doing together than something that was being done to him.

A shame that such could not be said for most of his sexual encounters in the coming weeks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used the term 'boy' below, but this is just a descriptor to reflect the age disparity Anders feels - no one having sex here is underage.

The next time was a complete stranger.

Anders had taken to drinking a bit more. Without Justice to tell him to stop he enjoyed the indulgence, and if it helped him set aside certain memories... well, that was fine too.

He'd taken a breath outside the Hanged Man, enjoying the sunset. He remembered another sunset, by the lake near Kinloch Hold. With the farmer's daughter - Jana. Jana of the blonde curls and quick smile. Jana of the chaste kisses and quick laughter. Jana who had found a strange boy hiding in her barn and brought him bread and cheese and gentle affection.

The hand snaking around his waist made him jump.

"Sorry, sorry," came a voice.

He turned round to see a young man. Barely in his twenties, at a guess. All wide eyes. His large Adam's apple bobbing as his swallowed. He was blushing bright red, but looking at Anders with hunger. "Goodness, you're beautiful," he muttered, a hand reaching up into Anders' hair.

"Oh, umm, thank you, but..."

The younger man pressed into him, the hand at his waist feeling the hard muscle there, preserved from Grey Warden training that had never quite gone away.

"Look, I'm flattered, but..."

"Please," the boy breathed, and pushed him backwards, into an alley and away from prying eyes.

Anders pushed back. He was taller than the kid by a good head, and now that he was getting over his surprise he thought it was time to take charge.

But the kid had a will to him. He might have been short, but he was broad. He shoved Anders against the wall and one hand gripped Anders' cock through his trousers and _squeezed_. Anders gasped.

"I want you to fuck me," the boy whispered, his voice deepened with need.

"Well, I'm not going to," Anders said, struggling against the firm hand on his chest, but feeling weak from the hand on his cock.

"Then I'll fuck you."

Strong, young arms span him roughly and pushed him against the wall, rough stone abrading his face.

He tried to push back and away while the man was occupied pulling his trousers down, only to be slammed back against the stone, his vulnerable prick caught painfully against it.

He cried out, his knees buckling at the pain, but found himself held up against the other man's body, a hard cock pressed against his buttocks.

"Please, don't," he whispered, but the boy didn't seem to hear.

Spreading his cheeks, the inexperienced lad shoved into him without any preparation at all.

"Maker," the kid swore. "You're so tight - so tight!"

The fight went out of Anders. He let it happen. It was already happening. He might as well let the lad finish and be on his way.

Hot burning in his arsehole as the kid's wide cock rocked in and out. It probably felt larger than it was, shoved in dry and unprepared.

No longer occupied with holding him down, hands explored his body. Rubbed over his chest, seemed fascinated with his abs. Skirted his cock and rubbed him to hardness in spite of himself.

In his rutting the kid even managed to hit the sweet spot inside a few times, making Anders shudder and shake involuntarily.

It didn't take the kid long to finish. Pace quickening, holding Anders tightly against him, finally rocking all the way in, arms clenched about the mage's body, shuddering with climax.

And then he pulled out.

"Thank you, thank you," the kid muttered, then stumbled away, leaving Anders leaning against a wall in an alley, his trousers and pants around his ankles, wet tears on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Alone in his room in Hawke's estate, Anders took deep breaths.

Apparently without Justice, people found him attractive again. He supposed he had been taking better care of his appearance. Bathing more often. Even saving a little more money for himself from his expeditions with Hawke and setting it aside for some better clothes.

But he was unused to the attention. Probably, he wasn't handling it well.

A quick fumble with a younger man wasn't such a bad thing, was it? He just hadn't been prepared. Unfortunate to have been caught twice with such inexperienced partners.

Well, he could do something about that. Make sure he was better prepared if anyone propositioned him again. It was a shame to always have to fumble around for lube. He'd always thought the grease spell could be more refined.

Some part of his mind knew he was being faintly ridiculous. That this wasn't the best response to being taken against his will. But he had wanted to reach out to people more, hadn't he? There was an aching space inside where Justice used to be. He yearned for attention, for affection. Perhaps it was something other people could see. If he could just make it... easier.

So it was that this train of thought somehow found him on his bed, stripped down, plying a finger at his arsehole to see if he couldn't direct the spell more precisely.

Something clicked together and he could see how it should work. A pleasant slippery warmth filled him. He dipped a finger in and wriggled it to see how easy it was to slide now.

Yes, this would help. If he ever found himself in a position like that again, things could go more smoothly. It didn't have to be so bad, so painful.

He allowed the finger to investigate further, to hook... _just_ so. His hips bucked, and he heard a sound at the door behind him.

***

Hawke stared, unable to believe his eyes. The mage splayed before him, playing with himself. He should close the door and leave, but...

Anders' hips bucked, and it was like a jolt went through Hawke as well. _Desire_.

He had always found Anders attractive, but had sensed that the mage didn't really have time in his life for a lover - with Justice, his clinic, his work with the mage underground... And then when Justice was gone... well, it hadn't seemed right. Anders was still grieving, but...

" _Fuck_ , Anders," he breathed out. To see the man displayed like that. His cheeks round and firm, his back arched, his puckered entrance pink and clenching around his own fingers.

He moved forward almost without realising what he was doing. Ran his fingers over those taught, round muscles, and down the mage's thighs.

Anders shivered beneath him.

It was invitation enough. He had to have him.

Hawke's heart raced with the heat of his desire, replacing Anders' fingers with his own, delighting to find the entrance already moist and ready.

"Fuck, you prepared for me," Hawke said, Anders groaning beneath him as he slipped three fingers into that delightful hole without resistance.

He drew his hand away and bent down to bite on the firm flesh, pleased by Anders' gasp. Maker, he wanted the mage so much. Had to have him, right now.

He nearly tore his clothes pulling his trousers down, frustrated with the fabric separating him from the mage. Then, when he was free, he rested his hard cock between those glorious globes of flesh and leant down over Anders' back, wrapping his arms around his chest, groping wantonly over his body.

"Oh _fuck_ yes," he cried. He'd never wanted anyone so much in his life. Every inch of contact with Anders was intoxicating. He almost didn't want to let go of the mage to lean back and take him.

Almost.

Just the thought of being buried in that hot flesh - lubricated and ready just for him. He pulled back, aligned himself, and thrust in.

They cried out together.

Back again, getting a better grip on the man's hips, angled himself, and pushed. He could tell he'd hit just the right place from Anders' gasp, rocking back against him, needing more.

Hawke was happy to oblige.

It was hard to hold back anything at all. The impulse to pound Anders into oblivion, to rut against him like a dog in heat, was almost overwhelming. Gasping, he slowed himself to a steady rhythm, reached an arm down underneath until he found the mage's cock, began to stroke.

Anders' prick twitched and jerked with the pounding of his hips, and he could feel the other man's pleasure as Anders clamped down about him, rocked back against him. It was so good - so good.

Finally, he could not hold back any longer, and he shoved forward, angling to ensure Anders' pleasure too. Pleased when he felt the mage spasm against him.

They collapsed forward together, panting.

"If I'd known you wanted it that badly," Hawke said, "I would have done this years ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were using chapter titles for this fic, this one would be called, 'Hawke, NO'.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is caught by Templars whilst helping a mage escape the Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one gets pretty hardcore and violent. Warning for anyone who hadn't already realised this was a pretty dark fic. Tags will be updated.

Sex became a regular thing with Hawke.

It was better than with any man since Justice had left him. The warrior was good-looking, even if Anders had never cared for beards. True, that first time Hawke's presence had been intrusive, not at all what he'd been thinking of, practicing preparing himself like that. But at least he _had_ been prepared.

And if Hawke thought it was strange that he didn't want to move into Hawke's room... well, maybe it was strange, but he wanted his space. Wanted to have at least somewhere that he could be alone.

He wished he had the courage to ask Hawke for the key to the door, but it seemed rude, after all these months, to ask _now_ when they were involved.

Sort of.

But Hawke was attractive, and more often than not Hawke would make his move after Anders had felt stirrings of desire within himself. And that was good, wasn't it? To imagine caressing someone, then have their hands upon you?

And if sometimes what Anders felt in response was more of a shudder than a shiver, what of it? Sometimes he thought his body didn't know what he wanted. And it always worked out alright in the end.

***

The incident with the Templars happened two weeks after he had begun to sleep with Hawke.

He had been working with the mage underground to help a young woman escape. He'd thought they had defeated them all. Anders had brought her almost all the way back to Darktown when she pulled him aside.

"I want to thank you," she said. She was a young elf with deep brown skin and large eyes. She reached a hand up to stroke his face, and he was suddenly very conscious of her firm breasts pressed against him. Keeping his eyes on her face, he saw her pupils dilate. "Let me thank you," she said, her voice become throaty with desire.

"I think _we_ can find an appropriate way to thank him," said a deeper, rougher voice; a man in plate mail emerging from the shadows.

"Go!" he shouted, shoving her away.

He thought for a moment she wouldn't, but more men were peeling out from the trap they had run into. She screamed and ran. For a wonder, they didn't even try to stop her. Completely focused on him.

The one who had spoken span him around and shoved him back against the wall. He tried to send out a blast of mental energy to stun them but felt a blanket of silence settle on him. And then then the smite, which brought him to his knees.

The first Templar laughed. "Good, mage. That is a good position for you."

As Templar Number One began unbuckling his belt, the others moved forward. It was not the first time Templars had forced themselves on him. Dark, clanking, juddering memories of the dungeon in Kinloch Hold washed over him. But always they had come one at a time, taking turns holding him down before using him. Not so here.

Their were hands everywhere. All over his body. Ripping his coat from his shoulders, wrestling him out of his shirt, tearing the sides of his trousers in their rush to get him naked. Each pawing for a piece of him to make their own.

Anders tried to plead - to cry out - but the cotton-coated muffling of silence was upon him.

When the first Templar had pulled himself free he grabbed Anders' head roughly, pushing his mouth onto the man's cock. Another smite robbed Anders of any remaining strength. He couldn't even gag on the man's prick. He was just an open, warm hole for the Templar to fill.

His comrades were not content to be left behind.

Someone savagely pulled up his arse and held his cheeks apart. There was an appreciative murmur as several pairs of hands ran over him. Squeezed him.

He knew what was coming and wished he might have performed his carefully prepared grease spell, but he was completely robbed of mana and speech.

They surprised him when he felt the wet warmth of a tongue at his hole. Felt a face pressed into his cheeks every time the one holding his head thrust forward to fill his throat.

It was a preparation of sorts, and it was followed up by a wriggling finger. First one, then two, as someone else began stroking his shamefully hard cock.

He didn't want to be hard. He didn't know why he was hard. He wasn't enjoying this, was he?

The one at his head came down his throat without warning just as the one in his arse slipped a third finger in. "Gonna make you so loose," that one was whispering with excitement as he choked on Templar come.

Templar Number One groaned and laughed shakily, barely even objecting as he was pushed out of the way so another could fill him.

Hot and sweaty cock on his tongue. He was being encouraged to lick and suck, but even had he wanted to, the double-smite rendered him useless, barely able to stay on his knees, half held up by his abusers.

A fourth finger stretched his hole and he cried out around the cock.

Immediately another silence.

He wept soundlessly as his face crashed into pubic hair again and again.

Friction on his back and the soft slap of balls. Unable to wait, someone was rutting against him there, too, whilst below a thumb rubbed over his sensitive head and cupped and stroked his scrotum.

When the hand finally pushed all the way inside him he would have screamed if he could have. He had never felt so full, stretched so wide - another person's hand moving inside him. It pressed against his prostate and made him buck into the hand below.

Someone laughed - high-pitched and golden like the peel of bells. "He's like a human glove puppet!" she said, and he realised the one with her hand up his arse was a woman. "Fuck! That's so hot. I've always wanted to do this!"

And then he felt her pussy pressed against his hip. She was rubbing herself against him - even pulling him closer using the leverage of the hand inside him.

Pain radiated out like sharp, stabbing needles inside him, but she was also - damn her! - rubbing against that sensitive place inside, and the stimulation, from all over his body, was too much.

He came, and the one underneath whooped with delight.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "I think he likes this as much as - as -" And then the hand that was still resting on his over-sensitive cock jerked and squeezed down painfully. Something warm and wet splatted against his stomach.

The hand inside him and the cock at his head had him rocking back and forth between them.

He was reduced to a sleeve for their bodies to fill. A thing for them to rub up against.

By the time the remaining three came he felt hollow. Hollow, and yet made of fleshy pain.

When the woman finally removed her hand from his arse, he collapsed, shuddering and shaking to the ground. It was all he could do to curl up on himself.

The Templars fell silent around him.

"Fuck," one of them said, but the tone now more one of shock than desire.

"We can't bring him in like this," another said.

"I-I don't, I didn't. I've never wanted to do that," the woman protested. "I don't know why I..."

"Just leave him." He recognised the voice of the first man. "He's had enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has unhealthy rationalisations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick one because I need to go out soon.

After what happened with the Templars, Anders couldn't face going back to Hawke. The little space at the back of his clinic probably wasn't as safe as the Champion's estate, but at least it was his own.

Being alone there didn't seem so terrible anymore.

He was able to heal himself from the tearing and the bruises of their over-eager hands. Another person might look at his body and never know that there was anything wrong.

But there was.

He wanted to think it was them. And it was easy to hate Templars. But he couldn't ignore anymore that this was becoming something of a pattern.

Fenris. The young man outside The Hanged Man. Even Hawke, misinterpreting what he had been doing when he walked in without knocking.

There must be something about him. Some signal he was giving off. And he flushed at the memory of how Hawke had found him. Sobbed because he couldn't deny that it would be hard to see such a display as anything but wanton.

The Templars had thought he'd enjoyed it, too. He'd come, hadn't he?

Only Fenris had apologised, but then, he'd actually told the elf that he hadn't wanted it. Could he really expect to be treated any better when he didn't say 'no'?

When he'd finally cried himself out, Anders brushed the tears from his reddened cheeks and washed his face. With trembling hands he began working through his chores about the clinic, anything to keep occupied. Busy. The familiar actions became soothing after a while.

Eventually, Hawke came to find him.

The thumping at his locked door made Anders cry out, and for a moment he was frozen in panic, but then he heard his lover's voice. "Anders? Is that you? Are you in there?"

"...Yes," he answered after a moment.

He cursed himself to find the trembling was back as he fumbled with the lock and let Hawke in.

"Are you alright?" Hawke said, worry written in the creases around his eyes.

How to answer that question? He could not. He waved a shaky hand and finally muttered "Templars..."

Concern and something that looked like understanding in Hawke's eyes. "Hey," he said, pulling Anders close. "Fuck those bastards. Next time, bring me along. We'll get a gang together. You don't have to do these things alone."

Anders shuddered under Hawke's touch. His hands where their hands had been. But he didn't pull away. He couldn't explain. Better to endure.

"Promise me," Hawke said. "Promise me you'll ask next time. I know you don't want to expose the mage underground, but you have friends. Merrill, Varric, Isabella - they'd never betray you, or the other mages. Promise me, OK?"

Anders nodded, because Hawke would never understand if he said 'no'. "I promise," he said weakly. And though he wanted nothing more than to stay in his clinic and tidy his things in peace and solitude, he allowed Hawke to lead him back to his estate.


	9. Chapter 9

They slept in the same house, but Hawke stopped coming to his bed. Anders wouldn't talk about it - couldn't - but it was obvious something was wrong. That he no longer welcomed Hawke's advances. After the odd rejected fumble that ended with Anders pushing him harshly away with panic in his eyes, the warrior got the message.

He continued to invite Anders to go with him on the city's errands and to visit Varric at the Hanged Man, but always softly, always "... if you want?"

Sometimes Anders would go if the errand was simple, but he never went to the Hanged Man anymore. He threw himself into his work at the clinic, and as far as Hawke could tell he went directly there and back and nowhere else. He didn't even think Anders did any work with the mage underground.

But eventually, Anders began to seem more like his old self. He came out on more missions and returned to writing his letters for the underground. And if he still avoided the Hanged Man, well, that was OK. Maker knew their friends could get rowdy, and he doubted Anders wanted to deal with Isabela's teasing or Fenris's anti-magic rants right now.

Not that Fenris was around that much these days either. Hawke's heart sat heavy knowing that the found family that had come to fill the hole his own had left was fragmenting, but perhaps it had been too much to hope that people so diametrically opposed would be able to get along indefinitely anyway.

Hawke had tried to get the mage to talk about it a few times, but Anders immediately shut down.

"They were Templars," he'd say. "They did what Templars do. You don't need to know anymore." And then Anders would collect his things and take them back to his room, locking the door with the key Hawke had given him at Anders' hesitant request.

Hawke stopped asking. He didn't want to drive Anders further away.

***

The day Fenris asked Hawke to pursue slavers with him on the Wounded Coast, everything changed.

Seeing a chance to mend fences, Hawke suggested they take Anders along as well.

"What? No!" Fenris replied. "We have Sebastian and we can pick Varric up on the way. This is enough."

"Fenris, don't be ridiculous," Hawke said. "I know you don't get on, but we need a healer. You said this group was dangerous."

"I have healing potions," the elf insisted. "We'll be fine."

Anders drifted to the door of the main room, from the library.

Hawke turned to him. "Are you OK to join us on a trip to the Wounded Coast," Hawke said, ignoring Fenris's protests.

Anders closed his eyes and almost seemed to shudder, but he nodded. "Yes, of course. You'll need a healer."

A look Hawke could not read passed over Fenris's face. "You do not need to go, mage," he said, with a tone that was almost like concern.

"It's fine," Anders said, not looking at him. "You need a healer, I'll be there."

Fenris had sagged a little at that, but he agreed.

The two men avoided each other for the trip out to the Wounded Coast.

It was the first one Anders had taken in well over a month. He brought his own tent, which made Hawke sad, but he didn't press. If the fling was over, well, it wasn't like Anders had promised him anything more. Living with Hawke had been a temporary measure whilst the mage got used to life without Justice.

Years ago, when Hawke had been pursuing... well, everyone, really, Anders had made it clear that any relationship with him was likely to end badly. Hawke had hoped that without Justice things might be different, but it wasn't as though Anders had said so. It was unfair to have expected more.

With four in their party, they set out, leaving Varric to his writing. They camped a short way back from the dunes - it was too far to reach their destination in a single day. Hawke sighed to see Anders retreat to his own tent, but let him go. He had no business mooning over a man who had promised him nothing and been through so much.

***

Anders woke to darkness and rough hands searching hungrily underneath his blanket. He could see nothing, but the tent felt crowded. He could hear bodies rubbing against one another, against the fabric of the tent. One hand rubbing up his thigh whilst another grasped at his semi-erect cock. Another kneaded the flesh of his chest whilst still more fingers caressed his neck. The tickle of a beard against his face for a moment took him back to his dream - _Karl?_

But no. Karl was dead.

"Hawke," he said, his voice rough with sleep. He pushed weakly against one of the forms that pressed against him in the darkness. "Hawke, stop," he said, a little louder now.

Hawke ignored him, his mouth pressing hot against Anders' as a hand ran greedily down his abdomen.

Someone else had stripped the blanket away from his legs and yanked hard at his smalls. He sobbed when he felt himself exposed, and strange fingers wrapped about his length. He didn't even know who it was.

He broke Hawke's unwelcome kiss, turning his head away. "Please, stop," he begged, tears in his voice, knowing it would do nothing, but unable to stop his useless, pathetic begging. "Please."

And then - light in the darkness.

The whole world was ablaze with blue-white and Anders squinted with pain.

Sudden coldness as the man rubbing against his thighs and cock was ripped away with a roar.

Hawke barely seemed to notice, pawing now at his hips, pulling him into a better position to be fucked. But another form showed at the tent-flap, and Anders could make out darker patches around the lines of blinding white, flashes of teeth where lips were pulled back in a snarl.

Fenris.

Of course. He would want to help himself, too. It had been too much to hope the elf's appearance of regret had been genuine.

But to Anders' surprise, it was Hawke the elf reached for, grabbing him by the hair and back of his smalls. With inhuman strength, he sent the larger man flying, following so fast it was as though Anders had blinked, and he was gone.

But the light of Fenris's markings had merely faded, and outside, Anders could hear them. Flesh slapping against flesh in a way that had nothing to do with lust.

Cautiously, his heart hammering and his limbs shaking as though from great exhaustion, Anders crawled to the entrance of his tent and looked out on the scene.

Hawke and Sebastian lay sprawled in the sand, Fenris standing over them ablaze, his cock erect and shining like the rest of him.

As Anders watched, Hawke locked eyes on Anders and began to pull himself up.

Fenris's foot connected with his stomach and Hawke was thrown back again.

"When someone says 'stop'," the elf was screaming at them, kicking at Sebastian as he started to rise, "You _stop._ "

Anders made a small noise to hear his words, said not so far away on this same cursed coast, echoed in the elf's mouth.

Fenris looked round and caught his eyes, but Hawke was fumbling to his feet again, and the warrior turned back, his fist connecting with Hawke's face.

"Get out of here, mage," Fenris called over his shoulder. "Go!"

And with an awkward scramble, he did, weaving his way out into the dunes, towards the water. Away from his friends, and his unlikely saviour.


	10. Chapter 10

Anders stumbled in the darkness. It was a clear night, stars looking down on his wavering progress in numbers never visible under the shadow of the city's walls, let alone Darktown. He hunched his shoulders as though he might hide from their gaze.

Time was meaningless. He didn't think he could have gotten very far, yet his meandering journey seemed to take an eternity. He stopped when he could see the water, hear the crisp crash of the waves, and not the sound of men fighting over him.

His legs collapsed out from under him and he sank to the dune.

Nights were as cold on the Wounded Coast as the days were warm, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all until the sound of a man's breath in the air behind him.

He closed his eyes and let tears fall down his cheeks. He wondered who it would be.

***

It had not been difficult to track the mage. He had not gone far and had made no attempt to hide his path.

When Fenris spotted him, sitting on the crest of a dune, looking out at the waves, Fenris did nothing to hide his approach. He had always been light on his feet, and the sand hid any footfalls he might have made, but he wanted Anders to know he was coming. Wanted nothing to be a surprise. So he stepped with a deliberate lack of care, let his mouth open so his breathing might be heard.

He saw the mage stiffen at the sound of movement behind him, yet the man made no move to leave. Something sank, cool and sad within him. The mage was resigned. If Fenris had wanted to hurt him, Anders would let him.

Fenris turned his path so that when they came level he was still a good distance away from Anders, then sank carefully down to the sand.

"I will not touch you, mage," he said, quietly.

Anders shrugged, not meeting his eyes, wet tracks of tears catching the moonlight. "No? You want to."

The mage nodded his head and Fenris looked down. His erection was softening, but still visible in his tight leggings. He breathed in sharply and shifted his thigh to hide it from the man's view.

"No, I don't," Fenris said, anger roiling in him as the edges of enchanted desire still plucked at his nerves.

Anders shrugged and looked away, out at the sea. The mage took a deep, shuddering breath. "What's wrong with me?" he asked, still not looking at Fenris.

" _Nothing_ ," Fenris said, as clearly as he could. "None of this is your fault."

Anders gave a bitter laugh. "Clearly _something_ is. You _know_ this is not the first time."

A sinking feeling - a maw of guilt opened within him. Memories of his hands on the mage. The mage telling him to wait, that it would be better for both of them if he just _stopped_. And his hands pressing on. His cock pressed into an over-tight hole, pumping roughly, over and over again.

And other memories mixed in. Danarius' hands on his hips. The tight, dry, rawness of his own unprepared hole. Blood eventually coming to ease the way, and Danarius using that, too.

Fenris gasped and buried his head between his legs, wrapping his arms over his knees as though he might hide from the world, from what he had done.

But no. He couldn't do that. He couldn't hide from this. He owed Anders that much. He pulled himself straight again and brushed tears from his own cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, the words tumbling out of him. "I didn't realise what was happening. It's not an excuse, I just... I didn't know it was magic, so I just... I thought it was what you said. That it was because of him, and I hadn't known that I could _do_ that to someone else. I..."

He could feel the mage's gaze upon him, but he couldn't meet it.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "'Magic'?"

Fenris frowned. "There's a spell on you mage," he said. "Surely you can feel it. Surely you know what happened tonight is not _normal_."

"It's become normal," he replied, almost too quiet to hear. "Since I lost Justice... people treat me differently, that's all. I act differently, I know it. It's more than I expected, but..."

Fenris stared. "This is _not_ your fault, mage. Listen to me: there is magic on you. I felt it. It consumed Hawke and Sebastian until you were gone."

Anders looked at him. "Then why didn't it 'consume' you?"

He shifted uncomfortably, leant a hand down upon the cool sand and felt the grains shift between his fingers. "This is not the first time magic has been used to spark desires in me." His throat grew tight. He did not want to speak of this. Not to anyone. Especially not to the mage. And yet he owed him this, and more. Explanation was the least of what he could give. "Danarius liked... he would like me to be ready for him. But he would not always use me right away. It was a part of my training to learn to... control it. Never to respond according to my own desires. Only his."

_Hours spent standing to attention, his cock rock hard. Sometimes naked. Sometimes fully clothed and armed. Sometimes he would wait on his master at table, pour wine, endure as Danarius and his guests ran hands over his naked buttocks and his painfully hard erection. Never bucking against them once. Never embarrassing his master by any suggestion that the magister was not in complete control._

"When it woke me from sleep. When I saw how it affected the others, too. I knew it wasn't just me. I recognised the magic. I could... separate my actions from what my body wanted to do. I remembered."

They sat in silence for a while. Fenris, in remembered shame. Anders absorbing his words.

"A - a spell, then," Anders said at last.

"Yes," Fenris said.

"It's not just... how I am?" Fenris could hear the tears in the mage's voice and wanted to weep for them, too.

"No, it is not."

"Because before..." Anders said. "I was always promiscuous. You've heard Isabela talking."

"Mage, you must _know_ there is a difference."

Anders shrugged. "Nothing has felt entirely real since Justice left. I couldn't see why..." He trailed off and sighed heavily.

"Do you have any idea," Fenris asked, hesitantly, "what might have triggered it?"

Anders shook his head. He hadn't even known he was under a spell - how would he guess?

"What happened, immediately before?"

"Tonight?" Anders asked, perplexed. "I was asleep. First thing I knew was Hawke..." he broke off.

Fenris felt uncomfortable asking, it was unfair to probe into such fresh and painful memories, but it seemed important. "Were you dreaming, at all?"

Anders let out a long, shaky breath, thinking. "Karl," he said. "I was dreaming of Karl."

"The mage you wanted us to rescue from the Chantry," Fenris said.

"Yes, Fenris," Anders replied, his tone acid. "The _mage_. The man I came to Kirkwall to free. The man I... the man I loved, for a while." Anders cleared his throat. "I've been dreaming of him a lot, lately. He's... comforting. Gentle. He never hurt me, not once."

A lover. Guilt washed over him again. Why had Anders never said? But then... why would he ever tell Fenris something like that? He had not made himself easy to confide in.

He hated to delve further, but they needed to know. "And before," he asked. "On the beach, before I..."

Anders shuddered, then laughed a little hysterically. "Before? Well, I was taking a piss. And when I turned round, you were there. And I thought... I thought how beautiful you looked in the moonlight, Fenris. That's what I was thinking before you... before you forced yourself on me like that." _Before I raped you_. "And if you'd slowed down - just a few moments would have done it - taken the grease from my hand... I might have enjoyed it. I..."

That sinking, crushing feeling threatened to overwhelm him again. _I thought how beautiful you looked in the moonlight_. The mage had admired him. And because of that, something about that, he had...

"You were aroused," Fenris said, quietly.

"Yes, Fenris," the mage said bitterly. "I was aroused. I thought you were hot stuff - in spite of everything - until you were rubbing me raw and you - you-" Anders' voice broke down into sobs, and the sound of them cut all the deeper because Fenris knew it would be wrong to try to comfort him. There was no sympathetic touch he could offer that would not pain Anders further.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to make you remember, I just..." There was nothing he could say, either. Nothing that didn't sound like an excuse.

Eventually, Anders regained his composure, taking deep, shuddering breaths. "Sorry," he said, finally. "I do see what you're getting at. You think it happens when I - when I'm turned on, is that it?"

"I don't know," Fenris said, trying to keep the misery from his voice. "Does it make a pattern? Were there... have there been other times?"

Anders nodded. "Yes," he sighed. "Yes, I suppose it does. Even with Hawke, I..."

"You and Hawke," Fenris said uneasily.

"I don't think he realises," Anders said, quickly. "I can't blame him for thinking... and if it's a spell..."

Anger simmered within him, and he let it come, grateful to feel something other than guilt. "He never even thought to ask?"

"Don't," Anders cut him off. "I can't... Not right now."

They retreated into silence once more. Eventually Fenris broke it.

"I'll take you back to Kirkwall," he said.

"The slavers..."

"The slavers can wait."

Anders said nothing, but Fenris could sense his acceptance.

"I'll get your things from the camp," he said. "Unless... if you'd rather not be alone...?" There was always the danger of bandits on the coast, but whether that would be worse for Anders than what waited for them back at camp...

The mage shook his head. "I'll stay."

"Call, and I will be here," Fenris said, firmly.

Anders snorted. "Yes, ser." But he could sense the mage's relief.

He would not be long, he promised himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments. This story started out so brutal I wasn't sure how well people would like it and to know that people are enjoying it and waiting for the next chapter means a lot. You have spurred me to write a new scene. Sorry it's only brief, that just seems to be how this one is coming out.

Fenris stalked back to the camp at a high clip, wanting to get back to Anders as soon as possible.

As he approached, he could see Hawke sitting hunched by the fire, and hear Sebastian, praying. The Chantry Brother was on his knees, bent double, prostrate on the ground. Fenris ignored him. Ignored them both, headed for Anders' tent.

Hawke stood to follow him.

"Is he OK?" Hawke asked as Fenris walked past.

The elf rounded on him, his expression making Hawke start back. Blood thrummed in his veins. He wanted to convince himself that Hawke was as much a victim as any of them were. But...

"How long were you sleeping with him?" he spat.

"What?" Hawke said, confused.

"How long? How many times did you take him without even asking if he wanted it?"

"Fenris," Hawke said, even sounding a little offended. "I know what happened tonight was... well, I don't even really know what happened tonight. I wasn't myself. I would never-"

"But you _did_. More than once, I know that."

"Fenris, what Anders and I did in our own home is-"

"No!" Fenris cried, "What _you_ did. 'I don't think he realises,' - that's what the mage said to me. How could you not realise? How could you not even _ask_?" He span away with a noise of frustration and disgust. Before he could say something he'd regret. Before he could do something Anders would not want.

"What?" Hawke said behind him as he began stuffing Anders things into a bag. At least the mage didn't have much.

"No," Hawke went on. "That was different. He came on to me. He... I'm sure you misunderstood. I would never! I mean, I know tonight, but..." A hand on his shoulder. Fenris's skin crawled with the unexpected touch. "Fenris, look at me."

Fenris grabbed Hawke's hand and twisted it to make Hawke cry out. The larger man sank to his knees beside him and Fenris's markings flared as his hand sank into the warrior's chest.

Hawke stared in horror, his heart fluttering between Fenris's fingers.

"Do I have your attention?" Fenris said, his voice grating with emotion.

"Yes," said Hawke, faintly, his lungs rasping against Fenris's half-phased flesh.

"Do _not_ touch me without permission," Fenris said. "And _never_ touch Anders again. You clearly do not know what it means to have someone's consent. Do you understand?"

From the panicked look in Hawke's eye, Fenris knew he wanted to argue, but was not stupid enough to do so with Fenris's fingers around his heart. "I understand," he said, after a beat.

"I will hold you to that," Fenris said. He withdrew his hand and shoved the gasping Hawke back upon the sand. Fenris stood and looked down upon the man. "The mage is under a spell. It provokes... desires in those around him, when he is aroused. What happened tonight... you could not help. But living with him. Touching him. For weeks. Never once asking if it was what he wanted." Fenris's mouth pulled back in a grimace of disgust. "That is not how you should treat a lover. Any lover. You should have known something was wrong."

He turned away then, and this time Hawke did not touch him.

He heard the man lying, gasping on the sand. Then slowly getting up and moving away. He didn't spare him a glance, although he listened, making sure Hawke stayed within the camp and did not attempt to go after Anders.

By the time he had taken down both tents and packed bags for both him and Anders, Hawke and Sebastian were in much the same tableau in which he had found them. Sebastian's praying had become quieter - Fenris suspected he might have listened to some of what had passed between himself and Hawke. Hawke was hunched even smaller by the fire, his skin looking greyish in the flickering light.

Their eyes met, but neither man spoke.

Fenris left them both behind.


	12. Chapter 12

Fenris was relieved to find the mage unharmed when he returned.

Carrying two packs, his sword, and a staff, made for a naturally more noisy progress, and there was something reassuring in the way that Anders turned round when he heard the noise this time. The mage was no longer willing to submit to anyone who came by. Perhaps he now felt like he had a choice. Perhaps it helped to know that someone would step in if he called.

Anders stood as he pulled level and accepted the staff Fenris held out, but raised his eyebrows when Fenris made no move to hand him his bag.

"I can carry my own pack," he said.

"No need," Fenris insisted.

"Fenris," he held his hand out for it. "Come on. Are you going to fight like that if we run into trouble?"

With a frown, Fenris had to admit the mage had a point. "Fine," he said, allowing Anders' bag to slip from his shoulder. "But if you need to stop, you tell me. I know it... there can be a physical effect. Do not feel you have to go on like nothing has happened."

Anders grunted, but said nothing. He pulled the pack on and turned to head up the beech in the direction of Kirkwall, not looking to see if Fenris followed.

They said little on the journey. They were both tired from disrupted sleep, and if Anders did not wish to talk about his experiences, Fenris would not force him.

As they approached the city their feet naturally turned down the familiar path towards Lowtown, but they ran into problems soon after entering through the city walls. As they rounded a corner, Anders let out a strangled gasp and immediately pulled back, away from the street they had been headed onto. There was a look of panic on his face, his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing shallow and fast.

"What is it?" Fenris asked. "What's the matter?" He peered around the corner, scanning the market for signs of trouble.

"Templars," Anders gasped.

Fenris spotted them, two by a stall, one looking at the goods whilst the other laughed and joked. They looked innocuous enough. Fenris knew the mage had no love for Templars, but usually they prompted dark mutterings or an insufferable rant, not this blind panic.

"I'm sorry," Anders said, between wheezing breaths. "I can... usually manage... but..." He was leaning against the wall for support, but Fenris could see Anders' knees were failing as he began to sink to the ground. He reached out to support the mage, but thought better of it. No telling how Anders might react to touch in this state, especially with his eyes squeezed shut so he couldn't see it coming. He held on to the mage's staff to steady it and sank down with him to the floor.

Anders was babbling. "It - it happened. There was a group of them.... and it happened." Gasping hard now. "She - she had her - her whole hand... inside. Inside me. And - and they... they took turns... with my mouth... on my back... underneath... what... I don't... even know what..." but he couldn't finish the thought, his breathing out of control now.

Fenris tried to tune out the glimpsed-horror of what the mage described. That wasn't what Anders needed right now.

"Just breathe, mage," he whispered, glaring at a woman who was staring at them until she turned and hurried away.

"I can - I can feel..."

"It's over," Fenris said, trying to sound reassuring. "They're not here. They're gone."

Anders didn't seem to hear. His breathing sounded painful.

Fenris had an urge to gather the man in his arms and hold him close, but he knew that wouldn't help now. "Tell me what you need," he said quietly. "Tell me how I can help you."

"She - she-"

"She's not here," Fenris said firmly, a low, hot rage building in his guts. "She can't touch you," he promised. "I'll _kill_ anyone who tries."

Anders' eyes snapped open, met his over the mage's ragged breathing.

"No one will touch you," he repeated.

Anders nodded, seemed to hear him. Tried to take longer, deeper breaths. It was clearly a struggle, but after a while the mage seemed to regain control. He leant his head back against the wall, taking long, shaky breaths. He closed his eyes again. His mouth twisted down.

"I don't know why I told you that," he said.

"It is _their_ shame," Fenris said, "Not yours. Never yours."

Anders said nothing.

"Anders, look at me."

Reluctantly, the mage obeyed. Fenris could read the self-disgust written in his eyes. 

"It was not your fault. You did _nothing_ to be ashamed of."

Anders took a deep breath and sighed it out. He looked down. "Not even being born a mage? Being... an _abomination/ _?"__

__Fenris echoed the sigh and sat down on the ground in front of Anders. "This isn't about that."_ _

__Anders shot him a glance that was almost normal in its bitter fire. "You think that was the only time I've been taken by Templars? By more than one? They were brutal - driven, I suppose - but they weren't the first."_ _

__Fenris looked away. He couldn't let himself be goaded into this right now. Perhaps Anders wanted the normallity of bickering, perhaps he really meant to make a point. It didn't matter. It would be too easy to break the mage's trust entirely with the wrong turn of phrase._ _

__"Now is not the time to discuss this," he said. "Let me get you somewhere safe."_ _

__When he looked back, Anders was brushing fresh tears from his face. "Nowhere is safe."_ _

__"My mansion," he said. "I will kill anyone who-"_ _

__"That's... a lovely thought, I suppose, but we'd have to get there. Hightown... Hightown will be crawling with Templars. I don't think I can..."_ _

__"Your clinic, then," Fenris said. "We can reach it through the sewers. No Templars. The doors are not strong, but it's a narrow entrance that I could hold. If you stay at the back, it might be enough."_ _

__"There's a passage, to Hawke's estate, from-"_ _

__"No," Fenris said, firmly._ _

__Anders shrugged, "Alright."_ _

__It was a little unnerving to hear the mage give in so easily, but it was what they needed now. He stood, offering the mage's staff back to him. Anders took it, and they made their way to the nearest sewer entrance, and the dubious safety of Darktown._ _


	13. Chapter 13

They made it to the clinic without incident. Anders had been nervous in the tunnels of the sewers, but once the way opened up into the broader and more open areas of Darktown proper, he seemed to relax. There must be few who could ever consider this place safe, but in the mage's company, without the distraction of Hawke's charismatic presence, Fenris couldn't help but observe the respect with which Anders was treated.

"Healer," a broken-toothed man greeted them in passing. With acid burns on his face and several wicked looking knives at his belt, he cut a formidable figure, but it was Fenris he watched carefully. No animosity for Anders.

Most of the inhabitants spared a nod or a smile for him. And as they neared the clinic a dirt-smeared girl, her hair in pigtails, ran up to them. "Will the lantern be lit today, Serah?" she asked.

"No," said Fenris, firmly.

Anders shot him a look. "No, Shaylana," he said, more kindly. "I'm sorry, not today. I've left some healing potions with Lirene, if it's something urgent..."

Anders paused, and Fenris feared he would tell the girl to come to him anyway, but the girl looked at the mage with a shrewdness that made him reconsider his estimate of her age. Her manner changed. "No, Healer, it'll wait. Mama just has the spring sniffles."

The mage looked relieved. "Oh, well, if that's all, I have a few herbs that..."

Shaylana gave Fenris a measuring glance. "She'll manage. You take care, Healer." And then she skipped away, her playful manner once more suggesting a much younger girl.

Anders snorted and carried on to the clinic.

Once inside, Anders moved quickly to the back of his clinic, where he began sorting through various pots of dried plant matter.

"You are not getting herbs for that girl," Fenris said flatly.

"No," Anders said, not looking up. "Although there was no need for you to be so abrupt with her."

Fenris ignored the barb and laid down his pack, unbuckling his sword. "What are you doing, then?" he asked.

The mage cleared his throat. Pouring out a mixture of herbs, he named them: "Deep mushroom. Dawn lotus. Elfroot. Witherstalk... you can make a kind of... suppressant. For... sexual urges." He didn't look up, but turned to dig out a small kettle.

"Oh," said Fenris.

"It'll make me... a bit dozy, I guess. But it seems worth it." The mage thrust a bucket at him. "I'll need some water. There's a pump over there. The water's OK if you boil it."

Fenris took the bucket and filled it. When he'd returned, the mage had a small fire going. He filled the kettle, gently shook the herbs into it, and set it on a little stand above the fire. it wasn't long before a bitter stench began to fill the room.

"Mage, that smells disgusting."

"Mmmm, and it'll taste worse," his mouth twisted into something like a smile. "But it's better than you killing all of Darktown on the off-chance something excites me." He sighed. "Honestly, I think it'll be a bit of a relief to... not feel things so clearly, for a while."

Something sank sadly within Fenris. He didn't like to think of the mage drugging himself with strange herbs just because those around him couldn't control their urges. Yet he was guiltily grateful that Anders had something that could stop that overwhelming desire washing over him again. He was sure he could control himself, now that he knew what it was, but the memories... and the pain of staying hard with lust and unsatisfied... it would be a relief for him, also, not to have to worry about that.

"You should get some rest," Fenris said. "After you've taken it. Then..." he felt uneasy suggesting it, but... "I think we should go talk to the blood mage."

"Merrill?" Anders frowned.

"It - it must be blood magic, do you not think? I was trying to think who else could help," he shrugged. There was no one else. They both knew it.

Anders nodded, his brow clearing. "She's not that bad, you know," he said. "She was - she was very kind to me. After Justice."

Fenris was less sure that Merrill could be trusted. They both knew her sweet exterior hid darker knowledge and deeds, but if Anders was comfortable with the thought of seeing her, that was no bad thing.

"Later, then," he said.

Anders nodded, and poured out his noxious tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter 'cause I'm sick. Take your medicine, Anders...


	14. Chapter 14

The mage went to sleep soon after he took his potion. Just curled up on the bed and closed his eyes. He was snoring softly within minutes.

Fenris wondered just how 'dozy' the herbs had made him, or if the experiences of the night before had simply exhausted the man. He felt disquiet again that the mage was drugging himself simply to avoid unwanted attention.

Fenris would have liked to sleep for a few hours himself, but even with the door locked and Anders drugged he was not willing to leave the mage unguarded.

He tried to busy himself around the clinic. Found an old broom and swept the floor. Filled the bucket again and began washing out the bloodied rags he found piled in a corner.

Probably, he was doing it wrong. Probably the mage would have to redo everything later. But it kept Fenris occupied. Helped push away the dark thoughts and memories. The knowledge that he had forced himself on someone else. The sensation of his cock inside another person. A person who was crying and asking him to stop.

It had not been his will. Anders was frustrating. Opinionated. An unrepentant abomination. But he'd never done anything to hurt Fenris. Had healed him without complaint. Healed dozens, probably hundreds of others, for free, asking nothing for himself. The people of Darktown loved him. He'd seen it in their eyes.

And Fenris had raped him. Had not even guessed that it was magic. Was there not something shameful simply in how plausible it had seemed that he would have hurt the mage like that? That a moment of lust amongst the dunes could pass so easily from a desire to hold him, caress him, fill his nose with the mages scent... to an urge to possess him, hold him down, use him even if it hurt. Had he not climaxed, spilling his seed in the mage's raw hole? Was there some part of him that had felt traitorous satisfaction? To hurt a mage as he himself had been hurt?

Fenris shuddered, and realised the rags had dropped from his grasp, the soap sunk to the bottom of the bucket, neglected. It seemed he was not so very good at finding distraction.

"I have a sink, you know." The mage's voice made him drop the bar of soap again, just as he had fished it from the water.

Fenris stiffened and turned to see Anders looking at him with bleary eyes.

"It's back there," he gestured vaguely. "S'easier. For washing."

"I apologise," Fenris said, awkwardly.

"No, I..." The mage waved a hand. "Never mind." He stood, refastening his hair in his leather tie. "How long was I asleep?"

"I'm not sure. Not long, I don't think," Fenris said.

Anders nodded. "We should go see Merrill."

Fenris looked uncertainly at him. Anders had a vague look about the eyes that suggested he was still not fully awake. "We don't have to. You should rest. It can wait."

Anders grimaced. "No, it can't." He paused, then rephrased: "I don't want it to. If she can help, I... I want to be free of this." He sighed. "And the herbs will wear off. And I'll have to take more... let's get it over with."

***

Merrill started back from the door when she saw them.

"Oh," she said. "Hello Fenris, Anders..." She peered around them, as though looking for someone else. Hawke. "I... what can I do for you?"

"May we come in?" Fenris asked.

She smiled uncertainly. "Well, yes, of course. Sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone." She stepped back to let them through. "It's a mess, I know. I'm a terrible hostess."

The room was bare, but spotless.

"Would you like something to drink? I've got some water," she said. "Oh! And tea! Isabella bought me some tea. It's quite nice, actually. Would you like some tea?"

Anders pulled a face at the mention of tea. "Water would be fine," he said.

"Right, yes, of course. Err," she looked around. "Do sit down." She bustled off around the corner.

Fenris let Anders take the more substantial looking of the two chairs and perched on a serviceable looking crate, leaving the other chair for Merrill. It was the two mages who needed to talk.

Merrill returned with two plain-looking cups, then settled uneasily on the remaining seat. She looked hesitantly at them.

"Are... did Hawke say he'd meet you here?" she asked.

"No," Fenris said, flatly.

Anders shot him a look. "This isn't about Hawke. It's about me." He ran a finger around the rim of his cup, avoiding her eyes. "There's something wrong with me."

"There's a spell on him," Fenris corrected.

"We - we think it's probably blood magic," Anders said, quietly.

"Oh," said Merrill. "I see." She moved her chair a little closer, and Fenris saw Anders stiffen. Merrill paused and sat back. "What does the spell do?" she asked, softly.

Anders hunched in on himself. "It... it, uh... I suppose it... prompts desires." Anders had coloured red, and he rubbed a hand over his face, avoiding Merrill's gaze. "When I... hmmm." The mage's hand was trembling, Fenris realised.

"It makes other people attack him," Fenris supplied. "When he's aroused."

Anders inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. Merrill looked between him and Fenris.

"Is that right, Anders?" she asked, gently.

The mage nodded. Fenris thought he would remain silent, but after a moment, he added. "I don't think they mean to, I just..." The trembling was more noticeable now.

Merrill looked to Fenris. "When you say, 'attack'...?"

"Sexually," Anders said, bluntly, a little louder than necessary.

"Oh," said Merrill. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, gently.

Anders shrugged.

"Can I examine you?" she asked, making no move towards him.

Anders shrugged again.

"Will you need to touch him?" Fenris asked.

She met his eyes, and he read understanding there. "No," she said. "I don't think so. But I'll need to use magic. And it would help if he stood up."

"Blood magic?" Fenris asked.

"No," she said again. "If it is blood magic, I might need to use blood to fix it, but this would just be diagnostic spell." She turned to Anders then, and Fenris was reluctantly impressed by how still she held herself, seemingly very aware of Anders' need for space. "It'll be a bit like when you examine someone for healing," she said. "Just looking in a slightly different way. Is that OK?"

He shrugged again, then swallowed, seeming to find his voice. "Yes. I understand. OK." He stood, still not looking at either of them.

Merrill stood too. Her hands passed near to Anders, but never touched him once.

"I'm just going to do a little test, Anders," she said. "You'll feel a little something - a pull from the Fade - but it won't do anything to you, I promise. Is that OK?"

He nodded.

Fenris felt something... like the fluttering of wings over the markings in his skin, and Anders shuddered, then it was gone.

"OK," she said, with the same gentle tone. "You can sit down now."

He sat, and opened his eyes, but kept them focused on the rim of his water cup. "Could you feel it?" Anders asked.

"No," Merrill said. "I'm sorry."

Anders looked up then, and the sadness in his eyes cut Fenris like an ache. "It's not a spell, then? It's just me?"

"No," Fenris said quickly. "Mage, no. I felt it. It's _not_ you. This is _not_ your fault."

Merrill shot him a curious glance, then returned her attention to Anders. "It's probably just that it's not active at the moment," she said. "You said it... it happens when you're... you know..."

Anders took a steadying breath, then let it out. "Yes, of course. I, umm... I took a suppressant earlier. I'm not... I'm not thinking very clearly."

"That's OK," Merrill said. "But I think I'd need to see the spell when it's active to get a sense of what it does. How it's tied to you."

"What do you mean, 'when it's active'?" Fenris said.

Merrill ducked her head. "Well, err, you know..."

"She means when I'm turned on, Fenris," Anders said.

He glared at her. "No. Out of the question. You'd turn on him, to. I won't allow it."

Anders rolled his eyes. "My gallant protector," he muttered to Merrill.

"I won't!" the other elf protested. "I promise. We'll swap it about. Once the suppressant has cleared from his system, I'll take some - and you, too, Fenris, if you want to stay here. And then, well... if Anders... thinks some nice thoughts, I guess...?"

"I will not be drugged," Fenris said, his voice flinty. "I can control myself."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "You can, but I can't?"

"That's right."

Anders held up a placating hand. "He can, Merrill. He did before. I..." he swallowed. "I trust him. I know that's weird."

She studied his face. "Alright, then. That's what we'll do."

Fenris grunted. The plan sounded foolhardy and dangerous, but if the blood mage were drugged, he supposed he could stop her if things got out of hand. "Mage?" he looked to Anders for confirmation. "You're sure?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. I want to know what's happening to me. And I want it to stop."


	15. Chapter 15

Fenris disapproved of how much less of the herbs Anders measured out for Merrill than he had for himself.

"I wanted to completely deaden myself, Fenris," Anders said. "That won't be necessary for Merrill, and besides, she must be forty pounds lighter than me. It wouldn't be safe for her to take anything like that much."

Fenris grunted, but it wasn't as though he had the knowledge to deny anything Anders was saying.

When Anders said he was feeling more himself, they set the tea to brew.

Merrill wrinkled her nose at the smell of it.

"It's disgusting, I know," Anders began, "but-"

"It's fine," she said, smiling warmly at him and taking a sip.

They waited until she had drunk it all, then ten minutes more.

"How do you feel?" said Anders.

Merrill shrugged. "A little bit like there's a film over the world, I suppose. But OK," she added. "I don't think it will interfere with my analysis."

"Right," Anders said. "I guess I should..." He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin.

"You don't have to," Fenris said, quickly. "Perhaps it would be better to wait a bit more."

Anders gave him a look. "It's fast-acting, Fenris. I want to get this over with, I just... I'm not feeling particularly..." He looked away.

Of course he wasn't. This whole thing was a stupid idea. Coming to the blood mage had been a mistake...

And yet it was what Anders wanted.

"Perhaps, if you thought of someone you... liked," he said at last. "Maybe that mage you mentioned before-"

"No," Anders said quickly. Firmly. "I don't want his memory sullied any more than it already has been. I won't use him for this."

Fenris's stomach sank. Of course. It had been a stupid thing to suggest.

"What about Isabela," Merrill chimed in. "Didn't you and she... well, you know?"

Anders grimaced. "I suppose we did. Maker - that night at the Hanged Man... that was probably..." He closed his eyes and shuddered. But then opened them again. "Oh," he said. "I know - electricity!"

Fenris frowned. "Electricity?"

The mage actually smirked at him. He lifted a hand, waggled his fingers, and then snaked it down to his lower back.

There was the tingle in his markings that came with magic use, and Anders gasped. A moment later, he was hit by a wave of desire.

He looked nakedly at Anders. Even with his hair unkempt and greasy, and with tiredness in his eyes, the mage was breathtaking. The straight length of his nose, the red-gold of his hair, the warm amber of his eyes. And Fenris knew that under his silly coat that pale, freckled skin was a pleasure to touch. How it rippled over muscles in the moonlight...

Memory of that night broke the spell, replacing enchantment with disgust. His body still felt a need to touch the mage, to take his body and bend it to his will, but his mind was divorced from that desire. Rejected it and kept it at a distance, though his cock remained rock hard. 

Remembering his duty, he looked to the blood mage. Merrill was breathing deeply, her eyes combing Anders' body as though she could see right through his clothes.

"Goodness, Anders," she said, a little distractedly. "I never noticed before, but you're really a very beautiful man. Had you noticed that, Fenris?"

"It's affecting her," he said to Anders. The mage, Fenris realised, was holding himself very still.

"Yes, but she's not acting on it. It's fine," he said, although his tone did not sound entirely confident of that. "Merrill," he said. "Are you able to perform the diagnostic spell?"

"What?" she said. "Oh! Yes, of course. Sorry." She stood, and the two men stood with her. Fenris moved between her and Anders. "Fenris, I need to get closer to examine him. You know that."

"You can feel the spell is working, surely that is enough."

She dragged her eyes away from her study of Anders' face over his shoulder. "I never doubted that the spell existed, Fenris, but I need to examine Anders to see how it is working within him."

"Fenris." Anders' voice behind him, reminding him that this was not his decision.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, then stepped away.

He watched Merrill very carefully as she approached the mage. Ready to twist her arm from its socket if she so much as touched him.

She did not.

Merrill raised her hands and again he felt the light plucking of magic against his markings. The blood mage tilted her head, and her face twisted with pity.

"Oh, Anders," she said, her voice full of sadness.

"What?" Anders said. "What do you see?"

"Everything I couldn't see before," she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I can see... I can see the hole Justice has left in you. It's so ragged at the edges. And I can see dark tendrils of power - the power of blood - reaching out from it. It's nasty, it's... it's using the absence you feel and twisting it to pull others in. Here." she raised her hands over his chest. "And here." One ghosted down towards his groin.

Before she could even get close, Fenris snatched it back.

Another tear spilled down her cheek as she wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I wasn't going to touch him."

"Good," he said, simply.

Anders sank down onto the chair, grief in his eyes. "This is all about Justice?"

"It was a blood mage who..." Fenris began.

"I _know_ , but..." Anders' voice hitched. He rubbed at his chest, as though there were a physical hole there. He looked up at Merrill with pleading eyes. "Can you do something?"

She sighed and sank down to her chair, rubbing her hands together. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before. But I will _try_ ," she said, looking directly into his eyes until he nodded. Then she picked up a few sheets of parchment and began writing. "I'll take as many notes as I can until this wears off. Then I'll have to investigate it. I think it will be a case of clearing the blood magic from the - the hole... in you. But I'll need to have a think about how that might be done."

"Thank you," Anders said, quietly.

Fenris sat down again and watched the mage scribble.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of comfort amidst the angst.

When Merrill felt she had gotten all she could from her examination, Anders began to portion out more herbs for his trip back to Darktown. The blood mage watched with a critical eye, and once he was done she picked up the paper it was resting on and tipped back about a third of what he'd poured out.

"Merrill," Anders protested.

"If you take that much you won't get out the door," she said firmly.

"It - it has to be enough," he said, and the sadness in his eyes cut Fenris. The mage was afraid of his own body and feelings.

"I will protect you," Fenris said, quietly.

Anders glared at him. "Do I have to say again how I don't want you killing people in Darktown just because I feel horny?"

"You were fine all the way back from the Wounded Coast and through Darktown before."

"Yes, but-"

Fenris looked across Anders to Merrill. "Is it enough?"

"More than enough," she said. "If you run into trouble he still won't be able to fight."

Anders sighed dramatically, but conceded. " _Fine_."

 

***

 

Merrill was right. There was a kind of glazed look in the mage's eyes as they set out from the alienage. He was walking, and aware, but if someone attacked it would be entirely down to Fenris to protect the mage.

As they made their way through Darktown, Fenris read more concern in the glances and greetings Anders took from the residents. They knew their healer was not well.

Fenris saw the broken-toothed man with the acid scars waiting for them outside the clinic as they approached. He was leaning against the wall by the unlit lantern, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on Fenris.

The elf moved himself in front of Anders, who snorted, but didn't complain.

"Something wrong with the Healer?" the man asked, looking Fenris in the eye.

"I'm fine," Anders said, trying to push past Fenris.

"Yes," Fenris said.

"You taking care of him?"

Another snort from Anders.

"Yes," Fenris said.

"Good," the man pushed off the wall and picked a basket up off the ground. He held it out to Fenris. "People here... lot of 'em ain't got much. Some of 'em, most of what they got come from him. They know it. This is from us."

"Guyver," Anders said. "No. I don't need this."

Guyver ignored Anders. "You make sure he eats something and doesn't give it away," he said to Fenris.

"I will."

"Some of us can afford it, Healer," Guyver said to Anders. He looked back to Fenris. "I'll be outside. Carta's been told, but I'll make sure."

"No," Fenris said, aware that Anders had gone stiff and still behind him.

Guyver looked him up and down. Sniffed. "Look like you can handle yourself, but I don't know you. If you're taking care of him like you said you're not watching his door. Someone should be. Templars ain't down here much, but it's not never."

A sharp intake of breath behind him. _... her whole hand... inside me... they took turns..._ "Alright," Fenris conceded. "But not right by the door. It is... a magical malady. The Healer needs space. No one can reach his door who has not already come down those steps and up the others. Watch from the top of them and call if there's trouble. I will come."

Guyver nodded, seeming satisfied. "Make sure he eats."

"I will," Fenris promised.

 

***

 

The basket contained an odd selection. Fresh-baked bread. Cheese. Onions. A couple of potatoes. Three withered carrots. Half a pie. An anonymous bottle of alcohol that practically set Fenris's nose of fire when he sniffed it. An unlabelled jar of some kind of salty, dark spread. Biscuits so hard Fenris was not sure they were actually edible. Another jar - this time Fenris recognised the contents as stock. And two flaky iced pastries which seemed so out of place in Darktown that he was certain they must have been specially bought (or stolen) for the basket.

He handed one of the pastries to the mage and took the other for himself.

"I think these are intended for dessert," Anders said.

"I think you're going to eat something pleasant and relatively fresh," Fenris retorted, and seated himself on a nearby cot.

The pastry was crumbly and delicious, and Fenris discovered he was starving. Neither of them had eaten much since the night before.

They ate in silence for a while, and when the pastries were gone, Fenris cut slices from the bread and cheese and they ate those, too. Anders insisted on trying the strange brown spread, and tried to persuade him it was good - some kind of Fereldan delicacy the mage actually enjoyed - but Fenris refused it.

"Thank you," the mage said, eventually. "I'm not sure if I've said that, yet. Everything you've done..."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. "Not not everything I've done deserves your thanks. And the rest... it can't begin-"

"Don't," said Anders. "That night on the beach - I don't want to think about it. It's not the kind of thing you make up for. It happened. It wasn't your fault, but... don't put me in the position of explaining that to you. It happened. It's in the past. I want it to stay there."

Fenris looked down at the piece of bread in his hands. He didn't know what to say to that.

Anders went on. "I didn't see a way out. I was... used to it. But at the same time... I don't know how much longer I could have gone on like that. I'd got used to it with Hawke. Sometimes I even enjoyed it. But after the Templars... he hadn't touch me. And I thought maybe..." He shook his head. "Feeling him all over me again like that. And Sebastian, too. I thought... it's never going to end. But it did," Anders said. "You stopped it. I _want_ to thank you for that. It matters to me."

He swallowed. "I know," Fenris said, hesitantly, "what it is like. To not think you have a choice. To believe it is going to happen anyway."

Anders nodded. He understood. He didn't need an explanation from Fenris, he'd just wanted to thank him. Anders finished his bread, and got up to start finding places for the things he had been given.

"I'm going to want to open the clinic again," he said.

"No." Fenris was firm.

"My choice, Fenris. Not today, maybe, but I am going to want to do it. I can't just wait around until Merrill figures out how to fix this. If she even can."

"It's too dangerous."

"As comforting as your faith in me is, I don't generally find myself turned on by my patients, and it's never actually happened here, so."

Fenris looked at him, overwhelmed by the need to protect the mage, and fear of what might happen. A part of him was aware of the strangeness of this. That he should feel this way for Anders, of all people, but it was only a small part. A line had been crossed. Anders was not the danger, now. Everyone else was.

"Then I will make sure that doesn't change," he said, simply. For a moment, their eyes met, and Anders nodded. They would work together on this. He would make this place feel normal and safe to Anders again.


	17. Chapter 17

It was a few hours later when a commotion outside announced Hawke's arrival.

"Elf!" Guyver's call carried over the general kerfuffle. "Elf - get out here!"

"Back of the room," Fenris hissed to Anders. " _Stay there_."

Fenris's markings flared, bringing the familiar burn. He didn't even bother with the door, phasing right through Anders' flimsy wall, moving across the small landing space, down the stairs, and up again, in a heartbeat.

Hawke. Hawke with his hands splayed wide in an expression of innocence as Guyver held him at arm's length. He was so good at that. Appearing to be good.

Fenris wanted to rip his throat out. Slash his cheeks wide, destroying that lying smile forever.

Hand grasped around the warrior's throat, he suppressed the impulse. He knew at least part of this anger was for himself. If he could kill just one of the mage's rapists...

But Anders didn't want that. Not yet. And a small part of himself suggested Hawke didn't really deserve it. That was harder to digest.

In his rush to get to Hawke, Fenris had shoved Guyver out of the way. Likely not something the mercenary would forgive, under normal circumstances, but Fenris could feel the man's stunned gaze on his skin. On his markings. Knew that to Guyver, it would seem as though he had appeared out of thin air.

"I warned you," Fenris said, eyes on Hawke's face.

"Yes," Hawke said. "And I'm not here to _do_ anything. I just need to talk to Anders."

"No," Fenris said. "You _want_ to talk to Anders. There is a difference. Do I need to explain to you about needs and wants as well? I'd hoped our last talk would suffice, but I can go over this, too, if you'd like." His other hand came to rest on Hawke's chest.

He saw Hawke's eyes widen, but it was a voice from behind that stopped him.

"It's OK, Fenris," said the mage.

"It is _not_ ," Fenris hissed.

"He's not going to do anything with you here." Fenris saw Hawke's eyes look behind him, wondered if their gazes met. Anger boiled in him again and the hand on Hawke's throat gave a twitch, drawing his attention back.

A sigh from behind. "Let him go," said Anders, "We do need to talk."

Fenris made a low, guttural noise in his throat, but let go, giving Hawke a shove for good measure. Then he retreated to stand by Anders.

"Remember how I'd like to minimise the killing, please," Anders murmured as they both watched Hawke approach. Then the mage shuddered, and retreated inside the clinic.

 

***

 

Anders stood at the partition that concealed his living quarters, waiting for Hawke and Fenris to enter the clinic, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest.

He did _not_ want Hawke to be here.

He didn't want to ask _himself_ the questions that thrummed at the back of his mind about what exactly they'd had together. What they had been doing. What had been going through his head the times that _he_ had initiated sex.

But also, he had to know. Had Hawke noticed nothing? _Should_ he have noticed something, like Fenris said?

Did Hawke still want something from him now?

Of course he did. But did he expect it?

Anders breathed in sharply at the thought, but forced himself to let it out slowly. Nothing would happen. Fenris would protect him. And the strangeness of _that_ would be considered at another time.

As they both entered, Anders sought out Fenris's eyes. "Could you wait out here, please? I need to talk to Hawke alone."

Predictably, Fenris bristled. "Absolutely not."

Anders raised his eyebrows. "And it's absolutely not your choice, elf."

Fenris held his eyes for a second, then looked sharply at Hawke. "I _will_ kill you if you touch him."

"Yes, you've made that perfectly clear," Hawke said, looking down.

"Hawke?" Anders said, making the man look up. "Come on."

Turning his back to the man he had called his lover was now surprisingly difficult, but he did it, leading the way in the cramped space he called his home, sitting on the small table next to his bed. Hawke would have to stand.

Anders was OK with that.

He entered hesitantly and glanced around. Anders could see him consider sitting on the bed, and then dismissing the idea. He leant against the wall on the opposite side of the tiny space from Anders, and spread his hands.

"I don't really know what's going on," he said. "But I'm not going to hurt you."

There was an irresistible and inappropriate impulse to tease.

"No," he said. "You're not. I have my new guard dog to make sure of that."

Hawke's eyes flicked to the door, then back to Anders.

"I'm sorry," Hawke said. "I don't know what happened last night. One moment I was asleep, and the next-"

_The next hands were pawing over him, ripping at his clothes, clamping down on his cock..._

"That wasn't your fault," Anders said quickly, to chase the memory away. There was a hitch in his breath again and... when had he closed his eyes? He opened them. Met Hawke's concerned and curious gaze. Looked away. "Nobody's blaming you for that."

A pause. "Fenris said it was some kind of spell."

Anders nodded curtly. "Blood magic." The thought of explaining what was wrong with him again dried up his words. He shook his head.

"And..." Hawke went on, "Fenris said... it wasn't just last night. Before, when we were together - you didn't want it?"

Another shake. How could he explain this? Were there even words for this? "I don't know," he said at last. He took a couple of deep, shaky breaths. "Sometimes I thought I did. It was a lot... easier, with you, than with the others. I knew you weren't trying to hurt me."

Hawke made a noise. "But you _didn't_ want it."

Anders found he was shaking his head before he even realised. No. He hadn't wanted it. Not even once. "I think there was a time when I did," he said. "Before I lost Justice. I know I warned you off. _Justice_ didn't want it. But if you'd pressed... I don't know. It was nice to be wanted, for a while. But - but, ah..."

 _Hands on his arse, unannounced, caressing him. A firm, hard cock pressing into his freshly greased hole._ Tears spilled over the edges of his eyes and he brushed them away. "Why did you think I was preparing myself for you? Why did you come into my room without knocking? Why didn't you give me a key when I first moved in?"

He could hear Hawke shifting, but he couldn't make himself look up.

"I don't know," Hawke said, his voice a little hoarse. "We just never locked the doors. I mean, Bodahn and Orana have keys, but they're servants. Mother an me never bothered. We were family, you know? And I guess I thought... you were family, too, so... I just didn't think, I guess."

It made sense. Of course it made sense when he explained, but... "And the other thing?" Anders asked.

"I-I don't know. I saw you and it was like..." when he didn't finish the thought, Anders looked up. Hawke's face was red, his cheeks wet. He looked pained, and yet something hardened in Anders to see it.

"You saw me and it was like you just had to have me, right? Just had to fuck me, whether I wanted to or not?"

Hawke sobbed. "I don't know," he said again, his voice breaking. "It just - the moment I entered... I... it was like I'd never wanted anyone so much in my life, and I... you seemed ready, and..."

Anders recognised what Hawke was describing, but all the weeks of doubting himself, of assuming the best of everyone, of making _excuses_ for why people were _raping him_ \- it all melted away. "I get it," he said, his tone even. "You were under the spell - you just _had_ to have me. But you never thought it was strange? You never looked back on that and thought, 'Huh, I guess it is pretty unlikely that Anders would be sitting there, legs spread, just on the chance I happen by.' That never seemed even a little unlikely to you?"

Hawke shook his head. Opened his mouth and closed it again several times before finding his voice. "I guess I thought - later I thought - well, you liked it. I thought you liked it. Maybe you hadn't started out expecting me, but... you didn't say 'no'."

Anders lips thinned to a hard line. And though it was exactly the thing he'd told himself, in Hawke's mouth, he could hear how wrong it was.

"Maker," Hawke was saying. "I'm sorry Anders. You're right. Fenris is right. I should have asked."

"Get out," Anders said, looking away.

"Please, I-"

"Get out," Anders said again. "I don't want to look at you. I thought I could, but I can't."

"Right," Hawke said.

He heard, rather than saw Hawke walking away. And afterwards, he heard someone come to the door, and knew it was Fenris.

"What do you need?" the elf asked.

Anders laughed, looking up at him. "Another life?"

Fenris snorted, the wry smile so different from any he'd seen on that face before. "How about some toasted bread with Fereldan muck on it?"

"Yeah," Anders said, sighing out emotions too complex to put a name to. "Yeah, OK."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Isabela try to deal with what has happened in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness - I logged into this account for the first time in ages and there were so many comments - thank you so much! I'm really glad people are enjoying this fic and finding it nuanced. It's been really hard to strike the balance with this difficult material and your support is appreciated.
> 
> Just a short one, but another necessary converstation that needed to be had.

Sebastian's awkwardly worded missive came the next morning.

 

 

> _Anders,_
> 
> _I do not have the words to express my regret for what happened on the Wounded Coast._
> 
> _I am told magic was involved, but I cannot wash the taste of sin from myself with such reassurance. I am sure it offers little solace to to you._
> 
> _I hope that you do not find this letter cowardly. Perhaps it would be more honest to apologise in person, but I do not think you would welcome my presence._
> 
> _For what it is worth, I am sorry, but I do not expect your forgiveness. I can only prey that the Maker will take pity on my soul._
> 
> _If there is assistance I can give in ending this curse, you need only ask._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Sebastian, Prince of Starkhaven_

Anders stared at the letter a long while as Fenris watched him uncertainly.

"It's actually surprisingly thoughtful, if you take out all the stuff about sin and the Maker," Anders said at last. "He doesn't want to see me in person to apologise. Good. Much as there's a certain appeal to the idea of watching Sebastian grovel, I really don't have the energy." He tossed the letter aside amongst the myriad other papers on his desk.

Against protests from Fenris, Anders opened the clinic and persuaded Guyver to go away. As reassuring as his presence had been for a short time, a grim armed guard at his door was not conducive to a healing atmosphere.

He took only a very mild dose of the suppressant tea. It made him nervous to do so. Visions of Fenris cutting red swathes through horny refugees made him shudder, but in truth, he didn't think the risk was so very great. He realised he hadn't felt frisky off his own impulse for quite a while. With the exception of wet dreams and what he had managed to spark with electricity, his desire for physical contact of any kind had been very effectively quashed by his experience with the Templars.

He didn't think he was likely to come over all hot and bothered tending a sprained ankle or chesty cough.

There was a steady trickle of people throughout the day - not the flood he usually experienced when he got back from a trip with Hawke. He had a sense that his patients were still holding off bothering him unless there was a serious need. It was soothing to be able to help, though. To be able to put his thought and attention into someone else's problem and make it better.

Fenris was an uneasy partner, better experienced at inflicting pain than alleviating it, but he followed instructions well, and it was nice to have someone else to clean out the bandages, at least.

It was after the elf insisted he turn out the lantern for the day that Isabela came.

The knock at his door was hesitant - far from her usual style. Of course, Fenris insisted on answering it.

"Is he here?" he heard the warm sound of her voice from the doorway. Fenris looked over, his eyebrow raised, and Anders nodded.

The elf stepped back and let her in.

She looked for a moment as though she might say something to Fenris, but then she shook her head. "I've... I've heard some things," she said. "I've heard some things and it made me think I might have done you wrong, Anders." She seemed uncharacteristically subdued. "Can we talk? Maybe without Fenris looking at me like he can already feel my heart in his hand?"

Anders' eyes flicked to Fenris. He looked uncomfortable, but for a wonder held his tongue. His face could be difficult to read at times, but Anders thought the elf was trying to respect that it was his decision to make.

"Yeah," he said. "OK, come back here."

This time, Anders sat on his bed, and let Isabela have the stool. She sat, looking at her hands.

"Varric started asking me some funny questions about that night you stayed over and drank all my rum," she said. "It was weird, so I called him on it, and it turns out he and Hawke had a bit of a fraught conversation." Her eyes flicked up, and then down again. "Said you're under some kind of spell. That you had been for months. That you were when we... when _I_..."

His throat was dry, but he spoke up. "That was different," Anders said. "Hawke... Hawke can go hang. But I don't blame you for anything."

She met his eyes. "It's true then?"

"Well, you haven't said exactly what Varric told you, but..." He cleared his throat. "That blood mage - the one who... got rid of Justice. He made it so that whenever I'm turned on, people throw themselves at me," he laughed. "Funny, it doesn't sound that bad when I put it like that."

He'd hoped that with Isabela at least he could joke his way out of the awkwardness, but her face was grim.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be, I already told you, it wasn't your fault, and I really didn't mind. Sleeping with you was maybe the only sex I actually enjoyed since Vigil's Keep."

Her eyes were glassy, and he could feel the anger radiating off her, knowing it was not for him. "Anders, I-"

"I told you it was OK," Anders said; it was a strangely reassuring memory. "You didn't do anything I didn't want. And you only did it because I was staring at your chest."

"You were _drunk_ and grieving, that should have been enough to stop me right there," she said.

"We were both drunk," he said. "And you were under a spell. You didn't have any more choice than I did. Maybe less. And... you looked after me. And... maybe it wouldn't have happened otherwise, but..." he closed his eyes on unwanted tears that were pressing up from his own eyes. "But I don't _want_ to take another good memory and shit all over it with hindsight, OK? I just can't do that right now. I - I don't even know if I'll ever be able to face seeing Hawke again and... and I don't want it to be that way with you."

He wiped his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "I said it was OK, I had a good time, and the next morning you asked if I was OK before I left." He snorted. "Compared to Hawke you were downright _classy_."

She took a deep breath and wiped her own eyes. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "I'm sure."

"Well, then," she said. "Who can I help Fenris kill for you?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has a nightmare.

Fenris woke to the dark of the clinic and an aching erection. He heard a soft sound from behind him, from the little room where Anders slept.

Anders, with his reddish-blonde hair that would slip free of its tie and fall into his face as delicate strands. Anders, with the warm brown eyes that often had a glint of humour dancing behind them, when they weren't alight with a passion and a righteous indignation that was captivating in its own way. Anders, with his pale skin and delightful freckles.

Fenris was up and moving before he was even fully awake. He needed to touch the mage, stroke him, kiss him, fill his senses with every delicious thing about him. The way Anders' taut body had felt under his hands in the moonlight. The firm and shapely flesh of the mage's buttocks when he-

When Fenris had raped him.

He shuddered and stopped at the doorway, leaning on the frame for support, the need to touch the mage still tugging at him, images and sensations washing his mind of what he could do with Anders' pliant flesh.

"No, no, no," he muttered. He could resist this. He knew how. His body was not to be used for his own pleasure. He could stand and endure no matter the desires that coursed through him. He could detach from those desires. A sensation, an image, was no more than that. He didn't have to act on it.

Breathing deeply, he steadied himself.

The aching sensitivity of his cock was just something he would have to endure.

When he was sure he had command of himself again, he stepped forward.

Anders was whimpering in his sleep. The noise no longer sounded soft and appealing. Whatever might have caused the tent in the blankets that had roused Fenris, it was clear that Anders was not enjoying this dream.

"Mage," he said, standing as far away from the bed as the tiny room would allow. "Anders, please wake up. It is a dream."

Anders didn't hear him.

"Anders, wake up," he said, louder.

The mage whimpered but didn't rouse.

He couldn't touch him - shake him awake. Fenris was sure Anders would not welcome touch at the best of times, but coming from a distressing, and apparently sexual, dream to find hands on his body... it was not acceptable. He would find another way.

Crossing back into the clinic, Fenris glanced around. There was the water bucket, but Fenris didn't want Anders to be forced awake to wet clothes. Instead, he scooped up the flat pillow from his cot and returned to Anders' room.

"Mage, wake up," he said, loudly, and tossed the pillow at Anders' face.

Anders woke with a cry, pushing the pillow away and sitting up, his eyes staring in the semi-dark. "Who's there?" he said, fear cracking his voice.

"Me," Fenris said. "Just me, Fenris. You were having... you were having a bad dream."

Anders looked wide-eyed, but unfocused, at the place where Fenris was standing, his breath coming in shuddering gasps. "Fenris?" he said, eventually.

Fenris stepped forward into the dim light of the doorway to help Anders see him. "I'm sorry for the pillow," he said. "I wanted to wake you, but I didn't think you would welcome my touch."

Anders looked down at the pillow, which he had thrown from the bed. His arm visibly trembling, he reached down and plucked it from the floor, pulling it into his arms like a comforter. "Thank you," the mage said. "It was..." He squeezed his eyes shut, and his voice was cut with emotion. "It was the Templars." He opened his eyes and laid his hand on the raised spot that marked his erection under the blankets. " _Shit_." He looked up at Fenris. "Sorry. It's not that I... I didn't enjoy it, but the things they did to me... my body responded, I..."

"You don't have to explain," Fenris assured him. "I understand."

Anders nodded. A bitter laugh. "Of course you do. I'm sorry."

Pointless to tell him not to apologise again.

"I'll light some candles and put on some tea, shall I?"

"OK," Anders said. Then: "Thank you."

By the time the tea was ready, Anders was still sitting, hunched over on his bed, the pillow clutched to him. Fenris passed him his cup and moved to retreat to the other side of the room. His erection was starting to fade, but Fenris doubted Anders would want him too close.

"No, wait," Anders surprised him by touching his arm. "Sit with me?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow in the flickering dark. "Are you sure?"

Anders nodded, "Please. I trust you."

Gingerly, Fenris sat beside the mage on the bed.

"I appreciate... how careful you're being with me. I know it can't be easy," Anders said. "But I'm starting to feel like... like I'll never enjoy anyone's touch again. Like I've become this... broken, fragile thing. I don't want to be that way." He looked down at his tea. "I like touch, I..." he sighed.

Did the mage want him to touch him? Some kind of physical comfort? Fenris shifted his tea to his right hand and uncertainly raised his left, put it gently on the mage's shoulder.

Anders stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the touch. Something in his features softened.

Fenris moved his hand across Anders shoulders, pulling him in. To his surprise, Anders leant into the embrace.

"Thank you," the mage whispered.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric comes to see Anders, and they have a heated conversation. Fenris makes Varric a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post this! It's been in my mind for ages but the bunnies wanted me to write other things and sometimes weird sex is easier to sit down and tap out than intense conversations. Hope you enjoy the continued angst.

Varric came later that day, after Anders had insisted on opening the clinic, and a steady stream of people had come through its doors.

The dwarf nodded to Fenris, his face uncharacteristically still and difficult to read. Then he stood to one side of the entrance and watched Anders working, waiting for a lull in his charges.

At another time, Fenris might have gone to greet his friend, enjoying the ease that always came from Varric's laid-back chatter. Offered to pay off his Wicked Grace debt, been politely refused, then teased for some insignificant detail of his life.

But this wasn't another time, and Fenris did not cross over to Varric for the same reason the dwarf didn't come to him. Perhaps Varric didn't know or hadn't guessed what had happened that night amongst the dunes, but he knew enough. He knew that everything had changed for Anders, and things had changed for those around him, too.

Eventually, things died down. A few people had taken to the functional cots that lined the clinic walls, but those who could walk out had been treated and had left. Anders had washed his hands and was drying them on a threadbare towel as he walked over to Varric.

"Alright," he said. "What is it? Have you come to tell all of Darktown my business, too?"

"Blondie..." Varric protested.

"Save it," the mage said, shortly. "Hawke told you something that was none of your business, and you just had to share it around. You couldn't _resist_ putting your nose in."

"That's not what-"

"Did you even think to ask _me_ whether I had a problem with Isabela before you went straight to her, shooting your mouth off about...?" Anders seemed to choke on his words, closing his mouth and looking away.

"I was trying to protect you," Varric said, quietly.

"I didn't ask for your protection," Anders said, then turned sharply and walked away.

Varric followed, and Fenris hung back. What could he say or do that would help? The mage would not welcome interference, and what he needed was friends. Friends who had never hurt him, and those were precious few on the ground for now.

"If you had, I would have given it," the dwarf was saying. "At any point. Whatever you need, Blondie, it's yours."

Anders rested his hands on his work table, facing away from Varric. "I need Ajourdan to undo this spell. Did you find him, yet? Or did you stop looking?"

Varric stopped, a few feet away from Anders still.

"The trail went cold," he admitted. "And it seemed like the damage was done. It... wasn't going to help you move on. But-"

Anders rounded on him, hurt in his eyes. "But what? But you thought if you caught him I'd try to make him call Justice back? Is that it?"

"No, Blondie!" Varric exclaimed. "You just... seemed like you were finding your feet, and..."

"And you thought I didn't need revenge?" The accusation hung in the space between them for long seconds, and then Anders turned away again, busying his hands folding the towel. "I don't want revenge, Varric. And as much as I... as I want my friend back - the only person who ever really protected me - he's gone. And even if Ajourdan didn't destroy him, I wouldn't call him back from the Fade if I could."

Varric began to walk towards Anders again, and the mage faced him.

"If you really wanted to be my friend you could have respected me enough to know that."

"I'm sorry, Blondie," the dwarf said, quietly. "I've already started looking. My people know it's important."

Anders nodded. "Yes, well," he said. "If you want to help, talk to Merrill. If there's anyone who can help me, it's her."

"Alright, Blondie," Varric said. "I'll talk to Daisy." He raised his hand as though to pat Ander's arm, then lowered it. "Anything else you need, you let me know."

As Varric left, he caught Fenris's eye and motioned with his head towards the door. Fenris followed him.

Once they were outside, Varric turned to face him.

"You're looking out for him now?" he asked.

"Yes," Fenris replied, feeling the mistrust in Varric's eyes.

Varric started to speak. Closed his mouth. Swallowed. Opened it again. "You ever hurt him?" he asked, bluntly.

Fenris tilted his head, willing the rapid pace of his guilty heart to slow. "Funny, I thought I heard Anders tell you to mind your own business in that regard."

Something hardened in Varric's gaze, and though he must have known he couldn't have taken Fenris in a fight, he squared he shoulders. "Broody, there's a whole world of difference between telling Isabela something that wasn't mine to tell and me asking you if you've done what you already know a bunch of people have. Especially if I'm leaving you here to take care of him."

Fenris looked down, unable to meet Varric's eyes. "Perhaps you are asking me for something that isn't mine to tell."

The strong arms of a bowman pushed him back, and Fenris did not try to hold his ground. "Maker _damn_ you, Broody! You did, didn't you? That's why you disappeared off the face of Thedas and Blondie stopped coming out on camping trips. And now, what? You think I'm gonna leave you alone with him?"

"I did not realise it was a spell," Fenris confessed, his voice hoarse. "I..." There was no defence. Nothing he could say.

"Fuck you, Fenris," Varric said, turning the clinic. "He's coming back with me."

"No!" Fenris said, grabbing his arm. "You can't. You cannot protect him - you can't even protect him from yourself. You are _not_ taking him back to the Hanged Man where anyone could..."

"Do what you already have?" Varric glared at him.

"And will not again," he said firmly.

"Bullshit," Varric said, pulling free of his grasp.

"It's not," Fenris insisted. "Now that I know it is a spell, I can resist it."

"Oh yeah? Well, I can resist it too." He turned to go.

" _No._ " Fenris said again. " _You cannot_. Ask Merrill. You know she has no interest in Anders, but even after she drugged herself to stop it, it had an effect, and she saw that I was able to hold back. I know you have no reason to believe me, but she does. She knows."

"We all feel horny sometimes, Fenris," the dwarf said, his eyes full of fire. "But we don't have to act on it. You restrained yourself once. Great job. But once you didn't, and that's all it takes."

"You do not understand," Fenris said, unable to hold back the feeling in his voice. "You cannot. You have never experienced one of these spells. You do not know. You cannot know how long it takes to learn to resist them." Fenris was trembling now, and when Varric pulled away again his fingers were unresisting. Puzzlement was replacing anger in the dwarf's eyes.

"How long does it take, Broody?"

Fernis's throat closed on the memory of hands on his skin, on his cock, playing with his balls as he needed, needed so badly to respond, to buck upward, to throw himself into the embrace of the one who was chuckling and calling him a good little pet, his good little wolf. He shook his head to disturb the memory, but couldn't speak.

"Shit," the dwarf said.

He closed his eyes.

"Broody," Varric said, but Fenris shook his head.

"You can't take him with you," he finally managed to say. "It's too dangerous. He has a tea, that suppresses... sexual impulses, but you cannot give it to everyone in the Hanged Man, and if you take it yourself you will not be able to protect him." He swallowed. "When he is well, he never has to see me again, if he doesn't want to. But for now, there is no one else."

Varric's hand on his shoulder made him flinch and open his eyes. "He knows?" Varric asked.

Fenris nodded, sharply, and the dwarf let out a long breath. "OK," Varric said. "If it's what he wants."

"Talk to Merrill," Fenris repeated. "You should not take my word for it. You should keep asking these questions."

Varric nodded. "I will." Rubbing a hand over his face, he turned to go.

"Varric," Fenris said, calling him back. "If you want to help him, find me the names of a group of Templars. I know one was a woman, but not much else."

Varric raised his eyebrows. "A group of Templars..."

"Ask Hawke," Fenris said, his words clipped. "I know they stopped sleeping together after Anders... encountered those people. I imagine he will remember when it was. Possibly where Anders had been."

Varric stared at him. "He... encountered them."

Fenris stared back, and saw understanding dawn.

"I see." Varric pursed his lips, but nodded. "I'll get you your names."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris struggles to deal with the memories and emotions his talk with Varric stirred up. Anders comforts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for PTSD and discussion of rape.

As Varric walked away - down one set of stairs and up the other - Fenris stood, holding himself stiffly, his arms crossed. Maintaining the appearance of normality as the blood thundered in his ears.

When the dwarf was finally out of eyesight, he let out a long-held breath and sagged against the wooden partition that separated Anders' clinic from the rest of Darktown. His vision blurred, and as he raised a hand to rub his eyes, it was shaking.

A noise behind him made him jump upright and fold his arms tightly to himself again. He turned to see Anders.

"What did he say?" the mage asked.

"Nothing that matters," Fenris replied.

He could hear the annoyance in the man's voice, but his face was a hazy blur Fenris couldn't seem to focus on. "If he has questions about _me_ , then _I'm_ the one he should be asking them to."

"They weren't about you," Fenris said, amazed he could make his voice sound so calm. It didn't even feel like it was him speaking. He took deep, steadying breaths.

"Fenris," Anders said, drawing closer. "What's the matter?"

Fenris shook his head, but when Anders reached towards him, he flinched away.

Felt other fingers on his arm - touching him - sliding down...

He grunted and willed the sensations away. They were an illusion. They weren't real.

His body did not seem convinced.

"What did he do?" Annoyance turning to anger and fear.

"Nothing," Fenris gasped, ashamed to have given himself away. He wanted to run. To find somewhere private to let this out so that no one would see him so vulnerable. So weak. But he could not leave Anders alone. He _had_ to control this. "Nothing. Varric did nothing. It was what _I_ did."

Anders cursed. "That's none of his business! Damn the man. I told him!"

"No," Fenris said, shaking his head again. "He's right to protect you. If - if I thought he could, you - should should go with him. But he - he can't. I had to convince him."

A phantom hard and aching need pervaded his cock. He hoped his body would not respond. He could feel hands on it and shuddered. _Maker, keep me still. Do not let him see_.

"Fenris." Worry, now, in the mage's voice. "Are you afraid you'll... hurt me again?"

Fenris's chin jerked a sharp negative, but when he closed his eyes tears splashed down his cheeks. "Never," he said. "I'll never do that," Fenris promised. "But I had to tell him _why_."

"Oh." Understanding. Somehow worse. He shouldn't be burdening the mage with this. "Hey, OK. Why don't you come inside and have a sit down. I'll get you a glass of water."

No, no; all wrong. "You said to me. You said you shouldn't have to be... to be looking after my feelings. _And you were right_. Leave me be. I will recover."

"Fuck that," Anders said. "You need to sit down and take care of yourself."

His legs did feel weak, but he couldn't go back into the clinic and allow Anders' patients to see him like this. It was a piece of luck the space outside the door was so clear right now. Slowly, he let himself sink to the floor. "Then I'll sit here," he said.

Anders sighed, and sat down next to him. "Then I'll sit here with you."

"You don't have to," Fenris said, leaning his head back against the rough wood planks, his eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing - holding his arms close to still the trembling.

"I know that, Fenris," Anders said. "It's something I'm choosing to do. I like the fact that I can choose things now. Who to be with. Who gets to touch me and who doesn't. That's something you've given me back. It's important. So right now, I'm choosing to be here with you."

"Mmm," Fenris hummed non-noncommittally. He wouldn't gainsay the mage's decision, even if he wished he could.

Anders cleared his throat. "And there's something I've been meaning to say. I've been thinking," he said. "It's not just me who's been pulled by this curse to do things against my will."

"Mage," Fenris said, his eyes still closed against a world that didn't feel entirely real. "You asked me not to put you in a position to explain these things. You... you don't have to." Whatever he felt on the matter, Anders should not have to do this.

"But I want to," he went on. "Because I realised you weren't all the same. Isabela... only started because it was something I was thinking about. It's not how I would have wanted it to start, but she was considerate and she took care of me. Hawke... sometimes it even seemed like something I enjoyed. He - he never _checked_ to see if it was something that I wanted, but he never hurt me."

 _And I did_ , Fenris thought, shame welling up within him. The memory of Anders beneath his hands - the blood on his cock afterward.

It must have showed somehow, for Anders surprised him by taking one of Fenris's hands in his. This time, he did not pull away. "Hey," Anders said, and Fenris opened his eyes to meet brown ones staring back earnestly. "He would have, though, if I hadn't been prepared, that first time. And he didn't even realise he was doing something wrong. You did. You apologised. It matters."

"Anders..." he began, but the mage shook his head.

"I'm not done," he said. "Because the thing I realised is you were all different. All different to the Templars. There - ah - there was a brutality to it," his voice sounded rougher, holding back raw emotions. "If you... if you just need to have sex with someone, you don't take turns, you... But it's not like... it's not like they fought over me. They just got... inventive."

Fenris could feel the tremble in Anders' hand now. And somehow listening to him became more important than his own fears and memories. "I don't think a person does... what she did, unless it really was something she always wanted to do. There are... other ways for a woman to get off with a man's body. She could have fought the guy underneath, she could have..." tears spilled down his cheeks. "But she didn't. Because what got her off - what _really_ got her off - was humiliating me. Using me. Hurting me."

He met Fenris's eyes. "You didn't want to hurt me. You did, but..." he shook his head, "But it wasn't what _you_ wanted to do. None of you. Not that guy on the street. Not Isabela. Not even Hawke..."

"Anders..."

" _I know_ ," he said, brushing the tears away. "I know that's not the problem with what he did, but... I need you to know that I don't _blame you_. And whatever... happened... then, it doesn't mean you don't deserve my help. Especially when..." his voice wobbled slightly, "when I'm benefiting from what he did to you."

"Anders, _no_. You can't feel bad for that. I won't let you."

" _I don't_ ," Anders replied, perhaps a little too loud. He went on in lower tones. "I know it wasn't my fault. And what happened... still happened. But it's happened to you, too. _He did this_ to you. And I don't think I fully realised that until just now. And I should have, but," he shook his head.

"That was not the same," Fenris said, hoarsely.

"Why?" Anders said. "Because you were a slave? Or because everyone who raped you wanted to do it?"

Fenris's vision swam again and the pounding built in his ears.

He didn't know when he began crying. The world went dark and muted and throbbing. And when it came back to him, he was being rocked in Anders' arms and he was sobbing. Sobbing - as he could not remember ever having done before, as he had not known he was able to do.

"You don't have to explain it to anyone," Anders was murmuring in his ear. "Not Varric, not anyone. If they ask, you tell them to talk to me. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. And _I_ get to decide who knows what's been done to me, OK?"

"OK," Fenris said - his voice sounding high and faint to his own ears.

"OK," Anders said, holding him close. "Just keep breathing, and keep holding on. We can take care of each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter contains a lot of discussion of sensitive subjects. I want to stress that none of the above is intended as rape apology or suggesting that some rapes are better or worse than others, or that comparing rapes is generally a helpful thing to do. All rapes are bad. This discussion is presented purely as Anders reflecting on his situation and realising something about the nature of the spell and what that says about his attackers. His decision to comfort Fenris is not presented as good or bad, but just what I think might plausibly happen, considering that Fenris has become the only person Anders feels he can rely on, and his realisation that they have both been through something similar to each other.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric goes to find Hawke and asks him about the Templars.

Varric found Hawke alone in his estate. Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana were all gone. No one answered the door when he knocked, but it wasn't locked.

"Hawke?" Varric called out.

No answer.

A cursory scout around the ground floor revealed nothing, so Varric headed upstairs.

The door to Leandra's room was open.

Hawke had not so much as touched his mother's things since she had died. He couldn't bear to even move them, let alone clear out the space that had been hers. Yet now the door was open wide.

Hesitating on the threshold, Varric peered in.

The drapes were drawn and a single candle lit, though it had burnt low. Hawke sat in a chair near the dresser, a glass of something dark in one hand, the other laying open, palm up; Hawke stared blankly at it, as though in search of answers.

At first, Varric thought Hawke was oblivious to his presence, but when he said the man's name again, softly, he looked up.

His dark brown eyes were empty of their usual mirth, the laughter-lines at their edge looking more like crow's feet.

"Hello, Varric," he said, hollowly.

"What are you doing, Hawke?" Varric asked, although the answer was obvious.

Hawk sniffed, ignoring the question. "Well, you were right, weren't you?" he said. "You were right, and so was Fenris. And I was a blind fool. But I shouldn't have been. A better man would not have been." He sighed deeply and looked around his mother's room. "What would she think of me?"

"I can't say," Varric replied. "Does it help to think about that?"

Hawke gave a stiff, one-shouldered shrug. "Does it have to help anything? I rather think... I rather think help is not something I deserve at the moment," he said.

It hurt to see Hawke like this - consumed with his guilt. Alone, having lost so many people already. Hawke was a man Varric had instantly liked. Something in his bearing had spoken not only of competence, but of a kind of easy going good-naturedness that had made it feel like they'd known each other all their lives. Hurt after hurt had befallen the man and he had still kept going - still kept helping those around him and making room for their troubles in his life, and yet...

And yet.

How to reconcile the friend he had believed in with this person who could use another friend so poorly and not even notice he was doing wrong?

"Maybe try helping someone else instead," Varric said.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Who? Anders. He doesn't want my help. He has Fenris now." There was a slight note of petulance in his voice, but he sighed again - deeper this time - and it was as though he let some of that bitterness go with it. "And that's probably for the best."

Varric leant against the door frame. "Maybe. But Fenris can't do everything and take care of Anders at the same time. He needs me to find someone - several someones - but I can't do that without some more information. Information Fenris thinks you might have."

Hawke looked at him sceptically. "Oh?  And who exactly does he want to find?"

"A group of Templars. Did Anders wrong." It felt uncomfortable even talking about it obliquely - like he was betraying Anders' trust again - but it wasn't like this was something Hawke shouldn't have been able to work out on his own. "Fenris seems to think you're likely to remember when it was and what Anders had been doing when they got to him - on account of how after that Anders finally said no in a way you could hear."

Hawke closed his eyes and swallowed. The slightest shudder seemed to pass through his frame. "Oh," he said.

"Yes. Oh." Varric waited for Hawke to say more. He wouldn't fill the uncomfortable silence this time.

"I thought maybe..." Hawke began, then trailed off. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I suppose I thought maybe they'd just roughed him up worse than usual. I told him not to go out for the mage underground by himself anymore after that. That he could trust us - you, me, Merrill. But, ah..." Hawke had opened his eyes and was staring into his drink again. "You think... you think that they...?"

"I'm not saying what I think," Varric said, firmly. "I don't think Anders needs his friends to be talking about that more than is absolutely necessary. But you do remember when it was. He was doing something for the mage underground?"

Hawke nodded. "Yes, I remember. It really... it wasn't that long after we got together. Or - after _I_ thought we got together, I suppose. Just a few weeks. Maybe three - four months ago? I'm sorry, I don't remember the exact date, but Mistress Selby will know. You've met her - we've done some stuff for her from time to time - but Anders worked with her more closely. He went to rescue someone, I think. When he didn't come home I went down to the clinic looking for him and... well, he was in a state." Hawke drank deeply of his dark drink. "All he would say about what happened was that they did what Templars do. I should have known."

Varric pursed his lips. _Yes, you should have_. But it wouldn't help anyone to say it. Instead, he replied, "Well, it's a start." He pushed off the door frame and straightened. "Look after yourself, Hawke. Don't send your servants away if you're going to drink like this. Someone should be here."

"Someone who doesn't know what I've done," Hawke said in a dead voice.

Privately, Varric reflected on the fact that servants often knew more than they let on, but again, it wouldn't help to say it. It did feel like he should say something as a parting remark, but anything comforting dried up in his mouth. Should he say it was going to be OK? It wasn't. That Anders would forgive him eventually? Maybe he would, but Varric wasn't sure that he should. He sighed. "There aren't going to be easy answers on this, Hawke, so don't go looking for them. Do something useful - you're good at that. Just... far away from Darktown, alright?"

"Alright," Hawke said, faintly.

Varric nodded and left. It was the best he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neither of our boys in this chapter, I'm sorry, but Hawke has information Varric needs and we needed to check in on him, even if only briefly.


End file.
